Writing Practice: Zootopia
by The Random Casual
Summary: This is a collection of drabbles, snippets, ideas, or whatever you call self contained scenes that are not one-shots. Some may continue on between submissions, some might be AUs, some might just be vague ideas that I am fleshing out. All need some feedback, critique, or other food for thought.
1. The Ballad of Benjamin Clawhauser

Chapter Summary

Let me tell you a tale, let me answer a question, let me bring to light exactly who Benjamin Clawhauser is.

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, was beta'ed, though personal edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

Benjamin Clawhauser, grew up in Savannah Central, near the distract walls in a little gated community called Grassy Fields. His mother worked as a receptionist at a Lemming Brothers branch, and sometimes he had to go to work with her. Father Clawhauser was a express courier who worked for PawEx.

It was nice. Benjamin went to Scrub-Cover High, and he joined the Ham Radio club in his freshman year. He was popular, even given his nerdy hobby. He knew everyone's name, and no one had a bad thing to say to this big lithe Cheetah boy who gushed about the latest Pop Star or sport spats brand. He even got a pair signed by minor league pawball player Jon Dewclaw. He played center forward for the Scrub-Cover Rushers his junior year, and made a game winning penalty kick in his senior year.

And through it all, he loved to help others. He stayed after class to help his teachers clean up. He organized study groups. He helped his fellow student athletes balance their training and their homework.

When he graduated he could still run a thirty for ninety seconds and bench two-ten, and it was no wonder he gravitated towards Officer Pelt during career day. Join the ZPD and help make tomorrow a safer place.

Police Academy was not like high school.

In his youth he found easy success, here he wound up "dead" more often than not. He hated heights, the cold, and years playing pawball made his reflex move when taken to ground was to roll onto his back and evaluate. In sport, that was for safety.

In combatives, it meant being dead.

But he persevered.

He passed 42nd out of a class of 67, the class of 2010. First in radio operations though.

His mother and father were so proud. So proud.

Benjamin Clawhauser was assigned to Precinct 1, and he couldn't complain. His probie year went by without a hitch. His training officer didn't need much to mold him, such an open minded and accepting cheetah would make a fine field officer.

By winter of 2011 he had done himself proud when they took him off probation. Eighty-eight successful safe arrests, with a verity of foot chases, tickets, and rowdy drunks between.

His own squad car, his own cruiser. Rolling down the street, flashing those blues and reds. Though the good times couldn't last forever.

Critical Missing, Leona Redmane, lioness cub snatched by a dead beat dad with delusions of grandeur and a ruined Christmas in his wake.

Officer Benjamin Clawhauser spotted the beat up mini-van. He spotted that missing lion cub.

He doesn't remember much after. Smoke and fire, screaming. He's screaming.

They tell him that the dad caused a four car pileup on the Rainforest 110 Overpass.

They tell him he couldn't stop in time, and flipped his cruiser.

They tell him he is a hero.

Officer Benjamin Clawhauser, hero cop, who pulled himself out of his mangled wreak of a car and saw that beat up mini-van bashed through the concrete guard railing and hanging half off the overpass.

Officer Benjamin Clawhauser who ran to that vehicle and pulled it back onto the road and held it there even as the engine caught fire. Who held on long enough to allow back up to arrive, for the FDZ to get on scene and pull that little cub out of the wreak.

She was going to be fine. She was going to be fine.

Smoke inhalation, a broken wrist

She was safe and back with her mom.

Cracked ribs, torn ACL, and one slipped disk.

All in all, not a great butcher's bill for that horrid day. His ribs would heal, the city would pay for rehab, and the chiropractors.

So it was like that, he spent his Christmas. His folks were glad he was alive...and Mrs. Redmane packed him a savory cricket cake.

It was delicious...

2012 saw Officer Clawhauser do his rehab, and come back to Precinct 1 with a little orange bottle of pills. Chef Bogo put him on desk duty, milked his fifteen minutes for what it was worth. Benjamin didn't mind, the new probies always brought donuts, and the guys were always paying for drinks. It was easy to get comfortable.

It was easy to stay comfortable. His knee always let him know when it was going to rain...but the cruisers were never the same. Always smelt like someone smoked too much in them. Or vaped or whatever.

But it was fine. Fine to get comfy, and be that friendly face that greeted every visitor. Fine to get a second helping, the girls in the secretarial pool always made the best muffins. It was fine to let Clawhauser run the front desk, he was great at it.

It was fine...and when 2013 rolled around, Leona gave him a great big hug when he showed up for a special presentation. She laughs and he laughs, as he lifts her on his shoulders and tells the class what he does, what the ZPD does. She tells him he is such a BIG soft huggy cat.

Little Leona wants to be a cop just like him...he smiles and tells her she can...the kids all laugh...

Maybe it's best he doesn't remember that day too much...His desk is comfortable. And he does something he loves. It doesn't really matter. Every day is a day to smile.

Margy is making muffins this Friday and she making her special icing.

Old Sarge Riverson throwing down his annual Smokehouse steam off.

And every Christmas, Mrs. Redmane sends him a savory cricket cake, just like the first, when he was laying back in that hospital bed...

Just like the first, it is delicious.


	2. The Cold Open

Chapter Summary

This actually might turn into something more, a little idea on the back burner. Things are percolating, a story is forming, consider a first draft of a pilot.

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

"It's a mess in there." Bogo commented, turning to his two best detectives. Rainforest District SWAT had cleared the building, the victims were being loaded up by the double loaded gurney. This was...big. The CSU team had set up a small air lock, if you could call it that, a tent and dry plastic sheet that could act as a staging area for those...brave...enough to enter.

"What have we got here chief?" Nick Wilde asked, pulling his the hood of his department issued rainjacket up. The words Police emblazoned upon his shoulders, he sipped at his lunch coffee. Judy Hopps stayed silent, surveying the response. Dressed in her gym workout set, she was barely able to find her old meter maid vest in the trunk of her car on the rush down.

FDZ, ZPD, City Works, CDC, was that even Sanitation and Health and Safety? A Panther with what looked to be the CDC ran out into the rain, his plastic oversuit crinkling as he vomited in the pouring rain. A Ram coworker waddled behind, his own plastic suit a puffball in comparison. He patted his friend on the back. Judy stayed silent.

What in goodness' name happened here?

"Ruined forensics, RFD Works still haven't shut off the rain. Got nine vics so far. Lab boys say they think there's at least trace from maybe a dozen or more vics uncounted for." Bogo replied, as he tossed the two of them forensic coveralls. Not the full set, with self contained oxygen or NBC seals, but still...it was worrisome. Face masks and googles.

It had been a old private high school, before district restructuring had left the area a industrial zone. Families moved, the school itself sold the property to the city for storage. No one came down here, and it had been left to rot for years. Leaks, puddles, and mold was everywhere.

This was the set of the next slasher flick, not something...real.

Though, there were signs of real organized activity. Someone had hooked up lights. New doors and locks.

"Some stallion working at ConEd noticed this place was drawing power off the grid last night, so he decided to a inspection. Found some sick stuff..." Bogo commented darkly as they walked past the various techs from the various departments working on things. New plastic sheeting had been brought in to contain the scene.

He opened the door to what had once been a old boy's locker and shower. It was the title they needed. Made clean up easier.

"From what we can tell, some beast was holding rams and ewes down here..." Bogo finally said, Judy bit her lip at the scene before she calmed her heart and looked over it with her veteran eyes.

There was loose wool everywhere...and this place...it was wet, humid, and cool enough...

"We able to ID the vics?" Nick asked, compartmentalizing himself a tad faster. This was urban legend, stuff you told the new guys when they made their bones and got to sit at the big table. It wasn't...real...

"One. Yanni Ramstein, veteran out of the National Guard, did a tour overseas with Air Cav. Still had his tags, he's on the way to Central. Already checked, he's a Section 8, panhandles the 6th and West ZLR station downtown from what the guys working Patrol knows. Going to be a while before he'll get the meds he needs. Last I heard he needed surgery, he fought back it looks like. The rest are in the same boat, no missing mammals reports for any of them, and those that are talking need psych evals. One of them bit Delgato..." Bogo explained morosely, his voice dark and stormy as he glared at the scene.

Nick stood back and let Judy get a good going over on the scene. The rabbit was light on her paws, and had a eye for detail that had grown over the years.

She picked up a missed spot of black wool.

"It's going to be one of those cases..." She commented, turning to look up at Nick.

 ***scene cuts to opening credits***


	3. Another Day

Chapter Summary

Before you leave the house every morning, you should take a look in the mirror and see yourself as the world sees you.

* * *

Officer Nicolas Wilde, he stared at himself. Every day, before he went out the door, he paused. He paused and took a breath.

Never give them a reason to doubt your ability. Never give them a opening. Never let them know you're a step ahead.

Mom would have been proud.

Nick relaxed, smiled softly, and he turned for the door. There was nothing that needed to be said, there was no one to talk to for that matter.

Carrots was waiting for him, as usual ever since she bought that beat up old Possum piece of crap. "Eighty thousand miles" his tail, but he doesn't say anything.

Carrots loved the piece of junk, and she always has his Chai Tea with lemon waiting, so he doesn't say anything.

"Morning," Carrots smiled, holding out the tea in question.

"The thing with Snarlov still on for tonight?" Nick took the tea and blew on it, she always got drinks extra hot. Another thing to look into when he has time.

"Yeah, Fangmire's got it covered." Confirmation, perfect. Schemes abound, and not even his, or even Carrots. Hustles were a thing of beauty unto themselves.

Her bug of a car rumbled and knocked, less than usual, that farm girl in her knew something about engines. Might as well been magic hamster gnomes to him.

The drive probably killed the department's entire carbon credit budget, and she was a little slower than the bus...but you couldn't lounge back on a bus.

Nick sipped at his tea, his mind wondered and his eyes flicked about. There were hustles to be made anywhere...surprising how often it came up as a cop.

Being able to read animals was most of the job, like right now. When they are parked underground, and Carrots manually locks both doors with her key, he's on his way inside.

Get the morning's BOLOs before going to the bull pen. Saved time, Carrots would sign in with Clawhauser for him. Being able to read animals, right. Into the cube farm, Delgato should have the papers.

Nick glanced around. Delgato still looked like someone stole his sweetroll and ate it front of him, shame. You strain your back and you have to come to work a hour early. Plus he's stressed out about something it looks like.

His in and out box are squared off at the opposite corners of his desk, not touching. His papers are all lined up by right angles in relation to his computer. His stapler, pen cup, and lamp make a line pointing towards him.

Lion's getting angsty about something. Probably about tonight, Delgato's promised to pull through on this. Nick made a note to send Higgins in, make sure his partner wouldn't spill the beans.

"What's the word?" Nick smiled.

"You would know better than me, still out there with Hopps?" Delgato was really getting angsty it seemed, he sounded wistful.

"Nah, you know Jude, she's got me buried in paperwork." Nick shrugged it off, yeah, Higgins needed to take this cat out for a drink before he went stir crazy.

New BOLO, looking for a senile old wolf who went missing last night...that would not be fun. Nick was already on the way back, was better to just make a full circuit around the precinct than double back.

Just past the offices, and Admin, and towards the lockers. Past those and you'd circle around to the bull pens. Looked like he'd have a walking companion at least.

Grizzo changed and showered at the station, he ran before he got on shift, health nut of a Rhino. He was wearing Old Fashioned today, meant a date. Never had luck with the ladies, probably because he thought Old Fashioned was sexy and not grandpa smell.

"Going for it tonight buddy?" Nick asked as he thumbed through the other BOLOs. The usual, gang affiliated sheep skipped bail on a dealing charge. Caution about a gang of car thieves after specific models, high end stuff, better warn Flash about that. Wanted for Misdemeanor Burrowing?

"You know it. Got myself a hot date, met her on that new KO-Dates app. It's awesome." Grizzo pulled out his brick of a smart phone, three gens old already, and still works. Said something about his care...and his cheapness. Nick nodded.

He'd make sure to tell Clawhauser to hide the legit doughnuts and put out the nonfat ones. Station didn't need Grizzo feeling sorry for himself AND getting gas from all the baked goods. For a Rhino that's cry at the drop of a hat, and eat a bucket of ice cream after his dates, he bounced back mighty quickly.

Not that it mattered. Nick followed Grizzo into the Bull Pen, he hopped into the usual seat. Carrots was already prepping that little notebook of hers, and that carrot pen. She thought he didn't know about the Blueberry version she hid in her locker, waiting for Christmas.

Oh, how he loved the Hustler. Bogo was stomping in, salutes abound. Nick settled down after the nod.

"RIGHT! It's time to let the cat out of the bag." Bogo started...

"Snarlov." Bogo smirked, he pulled out a wad of paper work. "Congratulations on completing department mandated sensitivity training, it's time to get you back out there..."

"Urm..." Snarlov looked up, the snow panther a bit unsure.

"And yes. Happy birthday..." Bogo lost the smirk, Nick pushed a elbow into Carrot's side. Make sure she didn't get that smirk. The Bull Pen schooled themselves.

"..." Snarlov looked around, his ears drooping...

"And?" Bogo asked, cocking a brow, looking at him over his glasses. Snarlov's ears folded back, he turned to Francine. The elephant shrugged.

Nick glanced back, a look of sympathy on his face. Oh, if that leopard only knew.

They were going to all have so much fun tonight.


	4. It ain't like the movies

Chapter Summary

It is not guns, knives, claws, teeth, or muscle that take out the most officers in Zootopia, it's cold hard Detrot steel.

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

Two years on patrol, Judy Hopps had not gotten her shield. At a cool twenty-six years, she was a career hare with aspirations and expectations. Plans changed, and she rather liked patrol. She knew the neighborhoods, the regulars, there were opportunities. Precinct 1's various SWAT teams were all welcoming. It was not a joke, that one could call her the most accredited rabbit on the force...and now, she was learning the ropes of High Risk Warrants and Emergency Response. There were a lot of things a rabbit could do that was useful to a SWAT commander. Mostly it involved crawling into deep dark holes with a drill and fiber optic camera.

Judy flashed her lights, a some old granny wolf driving with her blinkers on. A quick warning and maybe a welfare check. Where were her thoughts? Ah, yes. It surprised her when it was Nick who decided to take a position with not Robbery-Anicide, Intelligence, or hell even Vice. No, he had been snatched up by Special Fraud. Made sense, he had spent most of his adult life skirting the technicalities. He knew things that qualified him for a CPA and Business Law degree. He was not so much a puzzle solver, as he knew how to make them. He would do good there.

A promise to reunite as partners in two years was outstanding between them, stepping stones. Career stepping stones. On the way to Major Cases, it was their shared root after all.

Hard of hearing wolf, off to the pharmacy. She's a little shaky, and full of vinegar. Judy can't not maybe take her in. License is expired, and this granny is no where near the pharmacy. She steps away to check Yowl. Place has been closed for a year. Maybe it's time to get the EMT and a social worker down here. Eyes on her phone, she doesn't see what happens next. She doesn't see the bright yellow Lambo driven by a frat bro of a deer, messing with his doefriend. A bit of shirt caught on his antlers.

Her dash cam does, it records without hesitation or bias. As she stands at the corner of a old huge sedan, the kind of fuck off gas guzzler no one drives any more, she doesn't see the Lambo going eighty come into frame. There is no time, no chance, as the two ton steel brick slams into her and sends her flying. The thing screeches and there is a elderly cry, the Lambo gets onto the sidewalk and the granny's rear fender is smashed in.

There is barely a pause before phones come up and the Lambo speeds off, missing most of its left side.

Officer Hopps is down, struggling to rise, paws clamoring for a radio as bystanders start to gather. A few taking pictures or video as the rabbit on the ground struggles to breath. She is still alive, she is still alive. She struggles with her vest, her chest. It is to her credit, that she had been seen, as 911 calls flood in. About her. Some cop smashed by a hit and run driver. It is too her luck, that a med student is near, still in scrubs from their class at a nearby teaching hospital. Ribs and bones are broken, skin and fur lost, all Judy Hopps knows is pain before everything goes dark.

She will wake up in Saint Peter's Teaching Hospital, her chest and hips in casts, and no memory of what happened to bring her there.

It is just as well. Judy Hopps is a rabbit with aspirations and expectations, and she has a promise to keep.


	5. The Movie Rights

Chapter Summary

Always keep a controlling interest in all rights you plan on licensing, otherwise things might happen...

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

 _Nick Wilde felt the sting of bursting plastic, a cold burning fire on his skin, and for a moment he knew regret._

He could smell Judy's bloody wound, feel her paws on his back, as the world squeezed. Suffocating, crushing, deafening, drowning.

The rising panic, the damp sickly heat, the death of his self. His civility. His everything. Neurons misfired, his brain boiled.

There was no burrow, no female, no safety. It was too early. Was hungry. Hungry. Prey. Blood. So close. It was in his space.

His Space!

"Nick! Stay with me!"

Noise. Prey was making noise. Noise noise noise! CLOSE!

 _But...this...this wasn't prey...pounce...noise meant something...dumb...bunny._

"This...is...so...stupid." Police Officer Nick Wilde frowned as he watched a test roll of some pretty boy band arctic fox trying to get into acting, stop just short of biting into a definitely made bad choices in regards to film roles B+ starlet.

It was melodramatic. Dumb. And utterly what not happened, as the brave bunny heroine tamed the beastly fox with the power of friendship...they got rid of his blueberry idea.

"Shush you. It's your own fault." His partner Judy Hopps giggled as she tried not to fall to the floor and laugh. Oh, oh this was delicious, as the two actors stood up and let the stunt actors come in. Oh. Oh, she was going to have a kung-fu fight with Bellweather?

"Based off a true story, what the hell! Mike screwed me! It's nothing like our bio!" Nick raged as he threw said bio at the wall, the film being showed off the bullpen projector. It was lucky enough they took the graveyard shift for this, what would the others think?!

Why oh why did he think watching this in widescreen was needed?!

"It's your own fault Nick. I told you to wait." Judy replied as she watched her movie self fall in horror as Bellweather than ATE a whole clip of Night Howler pellets. It was getting funnier by the minute, oh, oh and crazy Nick was going to fight the now mutating ewe?

"And I told you that you need to move out of that rent controlled broom closet you call a apartment! This was our ticket to Downtown high rise lofts! Owned and paid in full! Places with doormen!" Nick seethed.

"I'm calling our agent!" Nick then howled as he stood up and gnashed his teeth, his tail puffing up as he flailed around.

"You're our agent Nicky boy." Judy bit her lip and tried to channel her church going pose, paws in lap, back straight, try not to get excited. Nick gargled as he slowly deflated and collapsed and rolled around on the dirty briefing room floor.

Then there was a little sniffling.

"Oh...oh...shhh...shh...it's okay. It's okay." Judy smiled as she got out of her chair and sat herself down next to Nick, she petted his head and shifted him onto her lap.

"Now...who's a dumb fox?" Judy offered as she let Nick curl up around her a little.

"...me...I'm a dumb fox..."

"It's going to be okay Nick, we'll have a talk with Mister Harbor and we got a couple weeks vacation time, and we can fix this." Judy said softly, smiling at his dismay. She reached up for the remote.

Click.


	6. Random AUs and Crossovers

Chapter Summary

Eh, some stuff. Not everything can be coherent.

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written and posted raw.

* * *

He hated these plastic Wonder Nines the department made them carry now. All plastic, no soul. Zig Zaires and Locks, they were fine, they were useful, but he so very much loved his old Combat Model Magnum.

It was well enough he did not carry it today, he would not want to risk loosing it. He looked at the otter in front of him as he leaned on the cage door, Emmet Otterton, Florist...husband...monster.

Sitting pretty, demanding a lawyer like it was something someone who did what he did deserved. The cement still clung on everyone in the squad...

"I have been a officer for more twenty-four years...and I thought I had seen every cruelty imaginable..." He sighed, as he pulled his department issued Lock from his holster, and placed it by Otterton's side.

"What-what are you doing?" Came the simpering, coward...coward...disgusting...

"Pick it up." He ordered, darkly as he reached down for his backup. The Schmidt and Weston .32 Bodyguard, it was his ankle piece, he had carried it with him for twenty years on the job. It had saved his life more times he could imagine.

"What?" Shock, disbelief, like this couldn't happen to a animal. His victims probably thought the same thing. He hated animals like that. He pulled back the hammer of his small backup piece.

"It will be your word against mine...you reached for my gun...I had to defend myself...now pick it up..." He growled as he pressed the cold steel between the otter's eyes, and his LT popped the strap of her own sidearm.

Cold steel in his paw...

Detective Sergeant Nicolas P. Wilde took a breath.

Cold steel, that's what the lads called it. The long construction rail that some animal had beaten into a make shift trench spike. Knuckles and a sharp enough point. His was already in his paw, a tiny piece of shite revolver he took off a dead officers in his other.

He lost his rifle days ago, there would be no replacement.

A charge, a mad charge against a enemy offensive that was breaking through line after line.

The corporal, that smart funny bunny lass that should have been baking some pies for a husband and minding her warren was screaming at the section. There would be no cowards, no retreat. They would be the last line between the predatory fascists and the city.

That smart funny lass, who saved his life more times than he could count. Who's life he saved in turn.

"Private Wilde! Are the lads ready?!" She screamed over the artillery that blasted overhead.

Fangmire and Snarlov were the last of the lads really, of their squad. Both prayed to the Creator. He had no such illusions that a god had time for mere soldiers like them.

"As we'll ever be!" He returned, pulling down his flat plate helmet.

"It's almost time!" The corporal replied, opening the pocket watch with a click. It seemed to sound out like thunder, she passed the thing to him. The two of them, doing the work of four dead officers and NCOs.

They were running out of time...they were no cowards.

Private Nikolai P. Wilde took a breath.

He was a coward, a coward and a fraud, and he wasted his life. Scams upon scams. Criminality. It was so easy, so very easy.

To trick the animals. The citizenry. Those of power and influence. He built himself a empire. It was worth it all.

Oh so easy it was...but...there were things he could never unsee. Things that demanded to be told. Things that demanded blood.

The madness. The greed. The shame...he should never have opened his door to them...but in the end, he corrected his mistake.

His tutor was there, his guide, the rabbit that set him on a path of redemption. She held his paw as they put the needle in.

She, a Sister of a sacred order held his paw. The paw of a liar, a thief, a killer...of a animal on his death bed.

It was okay, but he was so scarred. He had done wrong by the Creator, who asked all animals love one and other. Who created everything with love and caring.

The Creator was a vengeful and jealous parent though, and he could see forgiveness from Her perhaps.

Even if he did not do it in her name...what he did...at least it could be seen as her work...

He turned to the Sister.

She'd see to it the work was finished. That lives would be cared for, his money put to use...the work would never be over.

Former Hedge Fund Manager Nicky P. Wilde took a breath.

It was not over.

Smoke and dust was still in the air, first responders one and all. If there was a secondary blast, they were all dead...but it didn't matter.

What mattered was getting to work.

"WHERE IS MY STRETCHER!?" He screamed over his shoulder, the whipchord thin cheetah by his side blubbering as both of them were wrist deep into the guts of some Cape Bull.

Rookie to Vet in one atrocity filled lesson.

The Cape Bull was still awake, hooves clutching a cell phone, some random ass video app on it. A dinner plate sized hole should have killed him.

He was screaming for one of the others. Any of the others.

The cheetah was saying something, trying to keep the bull awake, not that it mattered.

Personally he was wondering why it was so important the bull live...the rook could barely pinch the bleed down, he was barely able to tie it off.

One of his trauma surgeons was on sight, he was never so glad to see that hateful hare in his life. She was dragging the stretcher, eight times her weight...

She was a Fighter.

Doctor Nick Wilde took a breath.

Fighter.

He had orders. Capture the rogue asset.

Ten years in Special Activities, ten years since Big found him. Running a listening post out of his high school.

Analogue with tapes and hooked in wires, undetectable by sheer obsolescence.

They had turned his school into a whore house, they did unspeakable things...and he recorded it all.

Because one day, a animal like Big would come and find out what the problems were...and he would be useful to such a animal.

Wild purple eyes were locked with his, confusion, unfocused. Not the eyes of a operator, she was afraid.

She did not know what was going on...this was weird.

Standard knee kick, followed by a attempt to grapple, it was textbook, good. What you'd expect from Special Forces and beyond.

First thing Big told him, was don't get bogged down by being afraid of such meat heads.

They were direct, they were simple, so beat them with technique. A shrew could kill a elephant. All one needed to do was know how.

Counter, clinch, prevent the legwork.

She's got no clue what she's doing. Or is she just that good a actor? No, her body is what is doing this.

She's not just some Spec Ops broken toy, she's something more. He didn't know how, but he felt his ears ring as his head snapped back from a skull that impacted down from the sky hit his nose.

Roll back, he was on his feet. She was amazed at herself. A pen was in her paw.

This was going to suck.

Amazing things a animal could do with a pen.

[Name Redacted] took a breath.

Amazing things an animal could do with a pen.

His meter maid vest was a size too small still, but the hat made up for it. He smiled at the rabbit in front of him, with a booted van and no more re-purposed elephant silk stockings in sight.

Little kid siblings who should have been in school laughing their asses off, as he wrote his little notes.

"It's your word against mine!"

"No. It's your word against yours." He smiled.

Click.

Probationary Officer Nick P. Wilde took a breath.

Click.

He covered wars he liked to have animals know.

War never prepared him for this. He wondered if that was why he was so calm.

He was so unprepared he cracked back into prepared when his brain broke.

There was no smell. No stench...was weird. Thank God for it, but it was weird.

He stood on the edge of a little overhanging shelf built in to the mall structures, a facade he think it was called.

The extra layer that shops had so their store fronts wouldn't be flush against the walls above their doors.

He wondered his little existentialist nightmare as he snapped his pics, each one told a story.

Who was this cheetah? Who wore tattered gym shorts and a wife beater, head band and running spats, but looked to be over four hundred pounds?

Who was this gazelle? Who was holding hands with said fat cheetah even in death? She was quite the looker that one.

Then fire.

He lowered his camera, and looked up, across the way. A rabbit in a rubber jump suit, hazmat suit. Gas mask and thick everything, deadhead proof probably.

A she if the hips were any indication.

Armed to the tips of the ears, and sporting a lot of fire...

She was looking this way.

He froze.

Looking into the eyes of a predator.

Freelance Photo-Journalist Nick Wilde took a breath.

Looking into the eyes of a predator, one exposed their true self.

Coward? Hero? Animal? Monster slayer?

The police girl sputtered, she was dying, and looking up at him.

He who knew no true name, nor a true title, vulpine teeth too long to be real.

She was no coward, a hero probably not, a animal definitely...a monster slayer...no.

A monster now though. She was a fighter, and he could respect that.

The choice was taken, he wrapped his new childe up in a blanket, his red coat billowed behind.

Off to see his Master. Old Bogo working his hands, a parasol shielding her from the rain.

"I found a little lost lamb, may I keep her?" He asked, silly of him, with those orange shades of his.

His master's long ears twitched.

Annoyance extreme.

Involuntary reactions.

Belmont took a breath.

!


	7. Training Day

Chapter Summary

When you police a city of over twenty million animals, you must be ready for anything, as Probationary Officer Nicolas P. Wilde is going to find out today.

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

Busted tail light. Probably a failed smog check. It was nothing serious. Should have been nothing serious.

Probationary Officer Nicolas Wilde tugged slightly on his sleeves, he wore a Service Set A uniform while his Training Officer Riverwatcher wore the usual High Vis Street Patrol gear. Riverwatcher was sixteen year veteran, traditional Grizzly Bear who probably got a cut of that tribal lands casino money if his name was any indication. Nick never asked, it was something for a rainy day, and not that it mattered right then and there. As Riverwatcher flanked around, to get eyes on the shotgun seat, and what appeared to be a sleeping passenger in the back. Covered under blankets, and a bit too still. Nick held the ticket machine, he was making his bones with Officer-Citizen interactions today...and now he was making his bones surviving the mean streets of Zootopia while wearing those dark blues.

Long sleeve blues, spats, no pads. Tie and cap. Duty belt, concealed vest. It was Nick's preference, a combination of approachability, his grooming habits, and that it made animals unconsciously put him in categories. Less militarized, desk jockey, neighborhood beat cop, nostalgia trip...soft. Inattentive. Naive. He smiled slightly as he leaned in towards the driver's side window, the junker sedan smelled of Nip and Paint Thiner. The blood shot eyes of a ocelot met his, shaky yellow orbs with that frenzied confusion that characterized addicts coming down and slowly crawling into withdrawl. There was many things to worry about.

"Sir, I hate to tell you this, but your left tail light is broken. Can I see your license and registration please?" Officer Wilde asked kindly, like it was his fault that the tail light was broken. Sound soft, sound kind. Most thought foxes were trickesters, and it influenced how they acted with him all his life...but he knew what power a uniform was, a symbol, a tone of voice. A glance and a smile. The impression you were newer than a newborn's cry and you could be tricked. The ocelot's teeth clicked together as he nodded.

"S-s-s-s-s-s-ure." Ocelot had a stutter, was that nervousness? A personal tick? Or a life of drugs? Other things to worry about, many things to worry about...license and registration.

'Look concerned' Nick thought to himself. Give him a edge, criminals loved to take a mile if it looked like they were given a inch...though with addicts, you never really knew. Either they were too stoned to notice, or they were paranoid, or any number of things.

Surprisingly enough that was not something to worry about just then.

The cheap ass Saturday Night Special half concealed under a newspaper was the biggest worry, Riverwatcher didn't have a angle with his height and his literal angle. Second was the Ocelot just speeding off and clipping him. A trip to the ICU and broken bones. Drugs had ravaged this cat, patchy black and grey fur and rashes, probably meant brittle bones and compromised muscles. Claws were probably as strong as crackers. Nick Wilde smiled, violence was a last resort, and triggering violence was not something he wanted on his second week riding shotgun. Third was the passenger, passed out get high friend or was there some hopped up crook with a sawed off under there ready to blast?

Nick Wilde grew up a petty little snot nosed kit with delusions of grandeur, after the first few beatdowns, he grew up a cautious hustler. Building himself up, he graduated to White Collar work well before he met Judy. How to work the system, rather than do what foxes were known for. It came in useful in his life as a cop, even if he was still a baby cop. He knew how to memorize number and letter sequences, and read upside down. There was a phone number written on that newspaper, 144-555-0909. This ocelot's name was Vance Rounds, License Number ER435667, address 1212 Stoney Street, Apt #12B. Tenement in one of the Rainforest District's low income neighborhood. A tiger by the name of Khan ran a book out of the bar on the corner of that street, and the neighborhood belonged to the Dye Alliance, small time street outfit with weird ideas about color. It paid to know various territories, and getting access to the daily police bulletins and flash alerts just rounded out Nick's knowledge base.

If he ever made detective and got a password, why...later, not now.

Nick made a show of considering his ticket machine. He milks it for all his noob worth, some weak willed copper who doesn't want to ticket some poor stuttering charity case...he ain't jaded yet and working off a qouta.

Nick wonders if it is even worth it, can the ocelot even notice?

"Everything seems to be alright, now, I can give you a ticket, but seeing as I don't want to spoil a good day. If you promise me you'll get that looked at today, I can let you off with a warning." Officer Wilde said softly, giving a smile he had been working on. He called it the Earnest Carrot. The ocelot licked his chops, before he nodded. Nick felt his inner tension release, hustled. With that, he stepped back and Riverwatcher gave him an appraising look. Nick merely returned with a sure nod, and a thousand dollar smile. Riverwatcher as TO led the way. They walked back to the car, careful not to turn back.

"Any reason you let that tweaker go Fox?" Riverwatcher asked conversationally as he climbed into the driver's seat, and Nick climbed into shotgun.

"Didn't want to risk the gun coming into play Sir, he had one under a newspaper on the front driver's seat. He's definitely shady, and escalating would have put lead in the air. He lives in the RD, and the car's a sore thumb, we should call it in and get some backup sir." Probationary Officer Wilde replied to his Training Officer.

"Obviously, given the DB smelling up the backseat. Hmm...good job, Fox. Last rook I trained got his eye slashed first time he tried to bust a tweaker on a routine stop." Riverwatcher chuckled slightly at that.

Nick didn't pale at it, one didn't sell a skunk butt rug to Mister Big without knowing how it was on the streets.

The junker pulled away, and Nick sighed as he tugged on his sleeves and adjusted his tie. Four more weeks, he'd get assignment into District One patrol. That was all that mattered.

He wondered if Judy knew how she had missed out on these experience? He barely made the lower end of Medium Predator, she had been Small Prey. And a MIP darling. She didn't get a training officer. There wasn't time to find one before the Night Howlers and the Missing Mammals case.

Introspection came with success or failure, it was something that came to Nick always...his first real bust...hopefully it would be a success.


	8. Marking Your Bones

Chapter Summary

Life on the streets of Zootopia is a hard one, life as a cop even harder. When a child goes missing, no one will feel unscathed. As Officer Judy Hopps will find out today.

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

Judy Hopps was top of her class, through middle school, high school, college, and the academy. Valedictorian. She was a rabbit driven to succeed...she was even head cheerleader in Senior year of High School. What most would call a popular girl, and over achieving Type A.

BA in Criminal Justice, qualifications on all aspects of police work. Pursuit Driving, hand-to-hand, air-arms, firearms, impact weapons, tactics. She was slotted for a try out for Sahara Town SWAT next month, SWAT didn't extend invitations lightly. You either had to have previous experience in the military with an active deployment under your belt, or you had to be a officer noted for being able to handle themselves well in crisis situations. Physicality came second to Temperament.

Nick probably would not have fared well under those assessments, or maybe he would? Judy entertained the stray thought, he was still six more months in his academy time, and then two months with a TO. Bogo had assured her, that he would not get thrown into the deep end like she did. Or rather, he wouldn't get a chance to throw himself into it like she did. Not that he would, no, Judy knew Nick well enough for that now. She was his tutor, and his best friend. He'd claw his way to the top like she did...or else.

The stray thought, became a web. Judy Hopps spun it masterfully, in her own opinion. Her blindspots while cut down, still existed. Nick helped with that. He made sure she didn't loose sight of things. Yes, Judy thought, it was better to think about that, rather than what was going on around her...she had enough thoughts about it enough. Even as she walked upon dry leaves and moist dirt, and memories of her childhood sprang into the mix as well, she had enough thoughts about the dirty backpack found under a rock.

Half hidden, with a big distorted paw print showing it was kicked under there. That dirty little backpack with the Mega Power Robots cast on there, in their silly little space suits. Ricky, the pilot of Red Robot, was smiling and giving a thumbs up even with a hole from a errant claw in his snout. She had called it in dutifully, a half mile back, marked it with a flag for the crime scene boys. Her little brothers and sisters loved that campy ass cartoon. Other parts of her had noted the details, for later. Animal, of the none-hooved variety, between her size and Fangmire's by the size of the paws. Was ill kept on claw maintenance, and was not sophisticated enough to realize they'd leave evidence. Too stupid, too much in a hurry, too panicked, take your pick...Who didn't know about paw prints?

"Hopps, over here." Fangmire called, he had Scent Tracking Quals, best nose in Squadron 1. The grey wolf was leading her deeper into their Grid Square in Zootopia's Grand Central Wild Nature Preserve, 30 Square Miles of forest and rivers.

They had called it Critical Missing, thirty hours on. Some chapter of the Rangers off doing camping stuff in what was considered the biggest park in Zootopia. Really, it was more of a national forest than a park. Little wolf pup by the name of Billy Dewlap had gone missing from the back of the group. The ranger master had not been paying attention, who's idea was it to only have only two adults in charge? There was suppose to be another adult, but he had called in sick...and now...little Billy Dewlap was gone. Thirty children walked in, only twenty-nine came out.

Judy knew in her heart, that when she found that pack, that little splash of color among the browns and greens of the preserve, that Billy Dewlap was gone. Fangmire knew too, he had been working Patrol near ten years now. He seen things like this before. Though given what she saw during the Missing Mammals case, he didn't need to tell her how far some animals could go. Either in brutality in the moment, or by craven thought and premeditation. The two of them, assigned to Grid Square G15, deep in the middle of the reserve had held out hope the little cub had wondered out this deep. It had been a easy sell, the easiest sell, in the face of two weeping parents, and the resources of Central's District 1 Police House through on to Sahara Square's air unit.

...Nick was first up in protocol, procedure, and the practical penal codes...and the scholarly ones too. Like her surprisingly. It was one subject that he didn't need help on. Fangmire was leading them to a pond. Nick could cite procedure at her like he was reading the book out loud, from the most obscure to the most relevant. Even she hadn't remembered what the procedure on resowing brass buttons onto their Dress Blues were. It was a over lapping stitch. A call for divers from the Marine Division. Nick was doing good, even if he was overly cautious most of the time. Old Ironlungs was still a Muzzlebook friend, complained that he liked to dance around too much. Too afraid to hit an animal. Better too cautious, than end up on shaky cam with a bad story falling apart.

"Oh..." Fangmire said, turning his head. He pointed towards the reeds.

"Oh..." Officer Judy Hopps replied, her voice soft, as all those stray thoughts and the web they built fluttered away.

It was time to get to work. She took a breath, she counted to four, she let it out. It was time to get to work.

Officer Judy Hopps didn't reach for the radio on her shoulder, instead it was to her phone. She went down her contacts list. There would be no sound bite on the evening news, no overheard tidbit that some news vulture would steal out of the air...at least...that was her hope.

Her voice cool and collected, determined rang out with a finality as Fangmire press the base of his thumb between his closed eyes, and muttered a prayer to the Old Gods of the wolves.

"Chief. We found him...we need Doctor Pearlmonger..."


	9. How Far?

Chapter Summary

A piece written for someone who wished to see some fanfiction about the fancomic Try Everything.

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

Judy Hopps had been stabbed deep, the wound had been duck taped and superglued shut and wrapped in bandages. What little ghetto medicine Nick and she knew, her dad had a scar like she would get, from when he came home from the Nam. Told her stories of how some Navy Corpsman superglued his stomach closed as he lay screaming in a Huey over Saigoat. Those stories were going to save her life, they had to...She was still leaking. That meant inside too probably...she breathed heavy as she leaned against the bars, in darkness. Her paws too weak to pull the curtain down, Nick had weighed it down with something...he was like her, he was good on his paws...thinking...

"NICK! NICKKKK!" She cried, even if each breath felt like lifting a ton off her chest, even if it burned to speak. She screamed for him. Voice raw, throat burning, the taste of copper with every syllable.

He was like her, sometimes it was easy to miss the obvious. Like two floppy ears on her head.

First it was screams, rages, slurred curse words and more understandable shouting, confused rams unsure of what was going on.

It had been five on two, with her guts trying to escape.

Her ears rang, from her bloodloss, her shock, but no...she had to hear...she had to know. She had to keep awake.

Nick's beautiful voice, his easy tone already such a good part of her life, was distorting. High pitched and cracking, dipping, going up and down as he lost his mind. It suffocated her...

It had been five on two...then five on one. Her ears and eyes started to fall. She grabbed a hold of the ancient barred crate, some little niggling part of her mind wondering what it was doing in the innards of a museum.

"What's-what's up with this guy?"

Five on one, Nick was screaming nonsense. Strung together words. She couldn't understand, there was no need to understand, it was madness and hate and killing froth.

"Myeyes!MYEYES!AHHHHHHHH!"

Four on one, someone screaming about their eyes. The sound of a body impacting against wood, in her mind she could make out the difference between shattering bones and wood...

"DOUGDOUGBROTHER!HELPMEHELPME!"

Three on one, someone screaming. The sound of crampons and hooves clicking against the cold concrete floor, wood splinters scattering. A running start, still two legged...

"dddouggggieeee...eee...eee..."

Three on one, someone is not screaming anymore, mewling and shock. The sounds of flesh ripping, horn snapping, keratin splinter, hooves slamming into a padded officer's vest, of feral madness.

"Gethimoffgethi-"

Two on one, the sound of blood dripping, of panic and screams. Of biting. Flesh rending. Bones breaking. Killing. Cowardice.

"RICKY! YOU FUCKING COWARD! COME BACK-AH FUCK!"

One on one. Bodies on the floor. Wrestling. There was only noise now. Only noise. No thoughts. Just survival of the fittest. Plastic crinkling, skittering wood and metal. Panic. She could hear it, still, under the ringing.

One on one. The frantic noises of our most primal selves, where there were no words, no civilization, only the cold fear of a uncaring brutal world. Panicked bleets and screaming howls.

None on one. Something trying to stand, huffing, puffing, a fox's maddened cries. The sound of it collapsing...Nick collapsing, struggling. She could hear it, how he couldn't walk, even on all fours, how his limbs uselessly scratched at the floor.

How he writhed in his death throes...

"Nick!" Judy felt a weight in her throat, her voice a rasp, the taste of copper stronger now. Sparks of light at the edges of her eyes, how could that be? She was in the dark. The ringing was getting louder.

The movements stopped...then they started again...angry huffs, killing intent...trying so hard to drag itself towards the noisy fleshy thing.

Judy Hopps felt like she was that little girl again, afraid under some bully's glare, helpless...but...but she wasn't helpless. She hadn't been then, and she would not be now.

She was not helpless.

The bars on this cage...they were made of wood.

Civilization meant nothing anymore.


	10. Further Still

Chapter Summary

This needs more work, the person that asked for Try Everything stuff asked for the aftermath too. I think I need to work on this more. It's too minimalist, and the pacing is off.

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

 _"911 what is your emergency?"_

 _"T-t-t-this is-of-Ho-hopps...of-down..."_

 _"Excuse me ma'am, but you are being unclear. Is this a emergency?"_

 _"Of-...down..."_

 _*sounds of movement in background*_

 _"Ma'am?"_

 _"officers do-WWWWWNNNNNN! AHHH! AHHHHHHHHHH!"_

 _*sounds of movement, something wet*_

 _"Ma'am!? Are you okay? I need you to stay calm."_

 _"O-officers down, this is Judy Hopps, Badge-badge..."_

 _"You are a police officer?! Stay on the line, I will have an ambulance there in no time."_

 _"Badge number niner-five-zero-niner-niner...officers...down..."_

 _"Just stay on the line sweetie, I have help on the way...Roger! I got officers down here!"_

 _"My-my partner...he's..."_

 _"Don't push yourself...just stay on the line, can you tell me where you are?"_

 _"Inside...natural history...museum...I have...four...suspects...down..."_

 _"H-how many animals are hurt?"_

 _"...two..."_

Chief of Police, Mwana Bogo listened to the 911 recording silently as he surveyed the carnage in what had been Zootopia Metropolitan Natural History Museum's storage wing.

And he looked at his phone for the photos doctors at CTH had sent over, Hopps' bloody wound, an inch wide and all but going through to the other side...and she was the lucky one.

Wilde...there were no words for the state of his body. Would he ever be a cop again...would he even be able to walk again...concerns for later, both were in surgery.

Going on nine hours now. Nine hours...and the blood was just starting to congeal.

The lab boys were all over it, Gearwinder was the best Technical Services had to offer. A long bodied rat with a eye for detail, him and his team...they would not miss a thing.

The ME, a otter by the name of Peralmonger, was surveying the pile of bodies from which they extracted a unconscious Wilde, and semi-conscious Hopps. Four rams, all wearing lab grade chem suits.

"What in the creator's name happened here?" Someone said, Bogo ignored them in favor of the bodies. Or rather. The one body away from the rest.

The one with a small bloody pawprint on the nostrils and mouth...the one officers found Hopps lying on...burner phone in paw...spouting conspiracy theories...

"Sir, we found something." Gearwinder padded up, his windbreaker open as he held up something electronic.

"High-grade mic-speaker and storage device, pretty fancy. Founded a ways back, in a carrot pen of all things..."

"Can you get it to work?" Bogo asked simply, as he considered the bloody pawprint.

"Sure. The casing might have been smashed, but the stuff all still works..." Gearwinder clicked the play button.

What came out...well...Bogo knew that that little pawprint had to disappear...that a certain line of thought...had to disappear...he...he took care of his officers...

Especially since he was the one that forced them into this.

Results or their badges...

Bogo clenched his jaw.

Results...they had brought him results.


	11. The Only Easy Day, Is Yesterday

Chapter Summary

When you walk a beat, you need to be ready for anything, whether it be some nipped up feline with their claws out...or a bloody street miracle.

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems. Also I know there are scaling problems...unsure really how I can fix that...

* * *

Foot patrol was always worst in the summer, even in temperate Central, where it didn't get past 98F most days. Though today it was a whooping 103F...It really was the worse, especially if you were Judy Hopps. Judy Hopps who has worn High Vis Street Patrol gear every day on the job since she started. The expensive synthetic weave should have kept her cool when it was hot, warm when it was cold, and let her fur and skin breath when she ran. Too bad that the stuff had a two year expiration date and her replacement sets were still being delivered through Central's Supply Service. No, it really was worse for the dumb Bunny, who sweated underneath her kevlar and duty belt and all the damn pads.

It was only a god send that she had such big ears, the heat sink on her head the only reason she was not passed out at the moment. That and her inane fantasy of making her long time partner, Nick Wilde burst into flame with her mind. He always wore a Service Set, A for long sleeves, B for short. Today was B. Though, instead of a real tie he wore clip on now. It was cheaper and safer that way. He was whistling dixie, enjoying the sun...whether or not it was a facade to annoy her had yet to be determined. Knowing him, he had some sort of elaborate device meant for storing pawcicles and was holding out on her.

It would only get worse and worse, as the sun started to reach it's zenith. They'd have to start advising any homeless to start to seek shelter, and maybe ask the kids to stay inside. It was only a godsend that no one was out and about now, most at work, at school, or just staying inside with the AC on blast.

Only the city workers on the front lines were out. Oh, how Judy's heart went out to their comrades in arms. The utilities guys, the street cleaners, the social workers, and the garbage men...

"OFFICERS! OFFICERS!" The high vis yellow of a city garbageman's vest waved at the end of the street, the chubby hippo waving it about. His coveralls wrapped around his waist given the heat. It was a little hypnotic, how he rolled his hips. He stood in front of his smoking garbage truck, the front end open and the engine sizzling. Though by the sound of things, it wasn't engine problems that needed help.

"Central, this is Hotel-14 on Foot Patrol, show us responding to a flag down by a city garbageman. Over." Nick called into his shoulder. He left first contact to Judy most days, a lot of animals felt more comfortable with a bunny than a fox, even a few years into the MII.

"Clear copy, show your responding. Over." Came the soft voice of their dispatcher.

"What's going on, sir?" Judy asked softly, lopping up and looking up at the hippo.

"Geez, our radio's down 'cause the engine's out-and-and-and-." The hippo stuttered and spluttered, something on his mind. Weren't there usually two guys per truck? Judy's eyes glanced around before she responded.

"Calm down sir, what is the matter?" She tried to soothe the hippo, who shook his head.

"Come on, Ted needs our help!" He reached and grabbed her hand, as Nick ampled up. For a big animal, the hippo was quick on his toes. Though Judy was quicker.

"Sir! Please, step back, and take a breath. What is going on?" Judy was not one to let a stranger, especially a stranger bigger than her, grab her. A couple years on the street told her to be careful.

"mmmmmm!" The hippo didn't seem to be able to articulate himself.

"BOBBY! BOBBY! YOU GET SOME HELP YET?!" Came the gravely voice of the hippo's partner. Distress and fear in his voice. It came from a shadowed alley, between the buildings. The angle of the sun leaving it cool. "mmmmmm!" The hippo nervously shook his fists before jogging off towards the voice, words failing him.

Nick patted Judy on the shoulder, no rest for the weary. The scene that met them was...mundane. A lion, teenaged or maybe couple years out of high school, with a greasy mane was kneeling off away from a dumpster. He wore his coveralls properly, in contrast to his partner. His paws were shaking in a strange way, his back bent down almost like he was praying...he looked up. Two fingers of his big paw coming up and down...

"Help!" He sounded hoarse before he leaned back down, that big lion chest inflating and uninflating. Judy's blood froze, Nick's ears folded back. Closer they got, no longer did they lop and amble, they ran.

"Officers..." The lion named Ted wheezed, hunched over as he was over a tiny furless bundle. Wrapped up in a dirty yellow blankie. Nick's voice is distant as he calls for RAs into his radio, and Judy kneels down next to this tired _hero_.

Sirens sound in the distance, as a soft little mewling cry breaks in that hot shaded alley, on the hottest day of that dreary summer...


	12. The Inevitable Grim Dark Post Apocalypse

Chapter Summary

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

Judy Hopps stared at herself, her eyes a dull sheen, her fur greasy and patchy, and her stomach so empty.

Day nine hundred. Was it worth it to see nine hundred and one?

She still wore the old colors, High Vis Street Patrol gear. Her vest was more duct tape than kevlar, her pants and shirt more patch then cotton.

The gun she carried she had stolen from the evidence locker on day twenty, when Bogo let them all go...it was over he said.

There had been nothing left to hold on to, nothing left to protect. Find your families and run...that was what he said on the PA system...Clawhauser found him hanging by his belt a minute later.

A recording on his phone, so no one could have found him.

Without a doubt, he had the right idea, he had not lived to have to survive all...this...

Not like her...not like Nick. Judy Hopps looked to the other room, her little warren safe for now...Nick safe for now.

He wasn't safe though...he was quiet though...Judy slowly trudged towards Nick. Or what had been Nick.

Blank eyes looked up from where he had been collared, a bolt riveted to the bare concrete floor, and a muzzle locked on.

Snap!

He leaned forward, and tried to bite at her, unaware that he could not open his mouth, that his hands were zip cuffed behind him, that he had no hope.

Ho...all he was, was dead and hungry.

The infection had taken him, and now...now there truly was no going back. Judy leaned out, to touch his ear. The bite that got him. That notch mocked her.

"It will be okay Nick...it will be okay..." Judy whispered, as she crawled around him. He batted at her, his muzzled face dug into her shoulder. She hugged him close.

"Only dreams now..." She had no tears to give, everything had been spent. Her thumb cocked back the hammer.

BAM!

Nick Wilde opened his eyes, the sound of glass breaking, a body hitting the floor, and the lightening woke him up. Judy had been staying at his condo, had she slipped and hurt herself?

crash. crash. More glass breaking...

"Carrots?!" He called out as he stumbled out of bed, his boxers the only thing he wore. He scrambled downstairs. The living room was a mess, she must have taken a bad spill or something, but where was she?

A light from his kitchen. He padded over with haste, and found a disturbing sight. Judy was staring at a running faucet, a look of pure amazement in her eyes, and his chef's knife in her hand.

His fridge had been opened, it's contents laid bare.

"...nnnnickkk?" She mumbled as she turned to him, a dead look in her eyes. Those eyes put the fear of the divine and the unholy into him, a hellish deadness that did not belong on his friend's face.

"Carrots...Judy...what's-what's going..." Nick resolved a action plan, if she charged, he would try to control the knife and nothing else...

Judy shivered. "tttthhheree'ssss waater.'

Her words were slurred, was she having a stroke? A psychotic break? Silent tears formed in her eyes. She dropped the knife...and then she dropped herself.

"Judy!" Nick cried as she collapsed into a limp pile. He ran to her.

What the fuck just happened?


	13. TIGDPA

Chapter Summary

Just a idea, might turn it into something. Perhaps time loops...

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

The warren had been compromised. There was noise. There was not suppose to be noise. It would have brought a wave. So much noise. Animals. Cars. Raiders. Where was the gun? Why does my body feel so heavy. I'm drooling.

I can hear the blood pounding in my head. Where's my belt? Where am I? Darkness, but light, where was that light coming from. Get up Hopps, get up. Survive. Another day. Another day. One paw, two paw. Like the academy.

Something soft and smooth under my claws, I can't get a grip. Something breaks. They'll find me. They'll find me! Crawl then. Crawl! Crawl for Nick. Nick. Where's Nick? Did he get loose? Nonononononononono.

Find a weapon...I'm not in the warren. Kitchen. Kitchen. Knife block. Most raiders didn't bother with the knife block. This place is...is...clean. So clean...knife. I need a knife. A weapon. Can of expired food. Whatever.

Get up. The doorknob. Get up. Snap. GET UP! Knife...the refrigerator was humming...I know this knife...why? Open the thing up. Cola. Greens. Take out. Shrimp. Milk. Eggs. Where am I?

Dare I try? The faucet. Where am I? It's smooth, lift up...water...clear water. Not brown, not black, not dust. Water...how come I am not hungry? This...

"Carrots?"

This is Nick. He's there. He's there. He's there. He's okay. He is okay.

"...nnnnickkk?" My mouth feels numb. I feel numb. I can't think. This...this is water...

"Carrots...Judy...what's-what's going..." He is okay. He is okay. He isn't wasting away. He isn't telling me to get the muzzle out of the cruiser. He isn't going quiet...

He needs to know we have supplies. There's supplies. Food. So much food. This is a godsend. This is so good. We will be fed for a week, maybe more. This is so good.

"tttthhheree'ssss waater.'

Why is my face wet...Nick is okay...he'll take watch. He will protect me. I can sleep. Another day. I can't stand up any more.

"Judy!" It will be okay...you're here Nick...it will be okay.

Sweet darkness.

This is a lie.


	14. Thinking Things Through(Gilt's)

Chapter Summary

When you mix stupidity and guns, chances are someone will be having a bad time.

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems. Thinking this might be a fun thing to work as a series of sorts.

* * *

Tomas Thurgood Tripton, aka Triple T was what you'd call the stereotypical hog biker, the hard core 1% type with a patched vest and dark black tats for the BoH in Barnsville Prison and the Vandals out of Tulsa. The spider web on his neck telling the world he finished at least a five year bid at a serious penitentiary, the runic bolts a membership in a supremacist gang in prison, the bloody dice on his knuckles that he had shed blood for the organization. He was in essence what most Zollywood directors wanted in their gruff criminal extras.

Triple T was not what most would call the sharpest knife in the drawer, or brightest bulb, or the any of the dozen or so ways one described a object not being the best. He had flunked out of high school with a wild smile and on his way to doing a nickle at the Barnville. He lived at the edges of what polite society called well...society. What they'd call a two time loser, but what he knew was only someone who'd sharpen their skills among his people. He was a young angry hog who loved his roadster bikes, the so called hogsters, big chrome handlebars and good old domestic engines. Big V6s that roared. He was a young angry hog that loved his whiskey, and his sows, and the feeling of his big crampons digging into some poor fool's neck...and he loved guns and money. He was a young angry hog on a trip, alone, and he needed some cash.

He was not the smartest hog around, but he was one that knew what he wanted. And what he wanted was inside this faggy little hipster shithole, specifically he wanted what was in the cash drawer and the little strong box under the counter.

A really high class joint, with those new flatscreen LCDs and Plasmas and whatever, pastels and mood lighting and homey wood furniture. Gilt's, probably some pancy's idea of a artsy name. Name a bar Virgin and all that...and whatever race traitor pig thought of that idea didn't even have the good decency to serve the right sort of folk. Or hire the right sort of folk. Probably some rich asshole that didn't even visit the place. Some literal fat cat working the bar, and a fox the till. Sure, there were some proper pigs here and there, but they weren't his sort. With their "geek chic" and their big black nerd glasses, and they're prep school shit. Big fruity drinks and finger food that had stupid shit like truffle oil or whatever. Hell, the only normal dressing ones were Tigers and everyone knew how perverted those mongols were. Why, whoever the pig was that owned this place, Triple T was doing them a favor. Reality check.

Now, Triple T might have not known what a parabola was or who Martin Luther was or what nations sat on the UN security council, but he was a hog who had put in work and knew his way around a sawed-off and fast getaway. This Gilt's place was a few miles from a cop shop sure, but if he hit it during the shift change, they'd turn a 5 minute response into a 15 minute one. The highway entrance was just a few miles further on, and once he got on that, he could skim off into the slums and tunnels. His fast road bike liable to get lost in the clutter. And with his plates in his saddle bags, and his face covered by his goggles, helmet, and bandanna...well, chances were no cops would break themselves to find someone like him.

Something like this happened every second in a big city like Zootopia.

Yeah, that was the plan alright.

So it was like that, he idled his hog in the loading zone, just near the door, ready for his getaway. From his saddle back he pulled good old Bertha, a old sawed-off double barrel he got off some old coot's truck a few weeks after he was released from Barnsville back in '12. He hid the thing under his road jacket, the taped up butt sticking out ever so slightly. His road crampons clicked as he opened the door, that canned easy listening shit playing softly in the air. God, this place was a joke. Fancy photos with people in suits all around, and movie stars, and all sorts of shit that some idiot thought looked good for a bar. Like a real bar would have patches next to hubcaps next to plates and use old construction wire reels as tables and have their walls and fixtures looked done up by some post-modern minimalist tripe with steel plates and rivets and glass covered bartops. Mixed fucking signals all that was. Probably served kale and gluten free crap...not that it did the fat cat with the spots any good.

The door jingled as he walked in, his game plan already ready.

"Welcome to Gilt's! What can I get ya-" The fat cat didn't get a chance to finish, Triple T whipped his sawed-off out and shoved it into his snout.

"GIVE ME THE FUCKING CASH! NOW! NOW! NOW! YOU FUCKERS BACK THERE, ON THE GROUND!" He screamed, tossing a look over his shoulder. "DON'T FUCKING LOOK AT MY FACE!"

...

There was a pregnant pause. Triple T stared at the customers, who stared back.

What the fuck was wrong with them? Couldn't they see this was a hold up?

There was a click and screech, as chairs fell over and each and ever one of those fuckers, from the pigs in their preppy ass sweater vests to the tiger in sweats to the fucking pregnant ass elephant all pulled out a god damn piece. Revolvers and Semis, tranqs and tasers, and was that a fucking Mac-10?! What?! They all flung themselves to hard pressed spots behind furniture and walls.

Triple T blinked at the surreal scene before he felt his entire body twist forward and a fat arm locked him into a headlock and wrench his gun from his hooves. His tusk cracked glass as old Bertha was pulled from his grip. The fat cat shoving his face into the glass and pulling him off his hooves with one arm, the other paw handing the sawed-off to the fox working the register. The barrel of a gun to the back of his neck prompted Triple T to do the smart thing, which was not resist.

"Oh Mem Goodness Hun, such a big mistake you made today..." The fat cat with the spots purred with a frankly uncomfortable accent...not that he was into that or anything...or shut up. Triple T sweated.

"Yeah...how does it feel to be a rocket scientist boyo?" The fox added as he unloaded the shotgun with a practiced ease, snapping open the shotty with a flick and catching the ejected shells without looking. Triple T sweated some more, and maybe a little pee came out.

Had he fucking hit a mobbed up joint?! The door jangled, not that he could see.

"Nick! Sorry if the bike is one of your 'friend's', but it was in a loading zone, so I gave...it...a ticket...wut?"


	15. Property Values(Gilt's)

Chapter Summary

Optimists say the glass is half full, Pessimists say it's half empty, Realists want omelettes for breakfast.

* * *

Nick Wilde may have not paid his full share of taxes the last few years(decades), but he knew his way around the system. Really knew his way around it, you had to when you were a ghetto kit from Happytown. Those tower blocks that Happy Gunderson made from tax and charity purposes were run down and rotten, and they crushed a mammal's spirit, but when you want to claw your way out of that sort of hole, you learn all you can. You act when you can, and if you have to take advantage of another animal's misfortune...well...you did what you had to do.

Was how he moved his ma out of the projects and into a nice little brownstone off Central's edges. Some software gerbil didn't see what the sub-prime mortgage market really meant. Like now.

Kit Karson's was a dive bar in the old red brick of Central's downtown, probably family owned going back to when Foxes and Rabbits rioted in the Five Burrows over the draft during the Continental Civil War. Classic Central Zootopia, just a few miles off Precinct 1. The hard scrabble traditionalist in the family probably died, and the business started to tank. He looked around, the place smelled of smoke despite the already decade old smoking ban in food service buildings. The realtor was telling him how great a piece this place was, that it was a steal. Old Saul Holstein might have been a bit of a shark when it came to his clients, Nick knew that well given how many he steered the old bull's way, with interest and fat stacks of rolled cash(read hundreds covering stacks of newspaper). The neighborhood was shite, a off the highway ramp distrustful place. Where even so close to the premier Station House of the city, no one liked talking to the cops.

Nick's sort of neighborhood.

Though, it wouldn't be for long. Central Zootopia's edges were gentrifying. Precinct 1 had a remodel back in the 90s, turning into what it was now, that shining island in the sea of urban sprawl. Where "good cops" worked hard and kept the city safe. Central's Teaching Hospital was getting a new Trauma Unit, and was under going major upgrades. There were a few organic food stores catering to the few first in gentrifying residents. A couple medical dispensaries were getting their "recreational sale" licenses. Hipsters with their skinny jeans and lattes crowed for the architecture, and the few residents the recession hadn't scared off would be priced out. This would be a new hotspot, before it declined and the bubble burst in a decade. Just how Zootopia lived and breathed, like a immortal, cells born and cells died.

Was a shame, but it was his opportunity. Even when the hipsters left for the 'burbs to start families, and the neighborhood regressed, chances were with Precinct 1 right there, the place wouldn't really loose too much value. Maybe one day, if he held onto it long enough, some young hustler will look at this place the same as him...was a interesting thought.

The furniture would have to be replaced, the old pool tables were uneven and dented, the felt torn and worn. The tables and chairs wobbled from hard use. The bar top smelled like it had been soaked through with stale beer and froth. Would be expensive. Hmm...he'd have to ask Ratriguez to give him first dips on any City Auctions. Bound to be enough for him to deck this place out for cheaper. Would be gaudy as all hell, but the stuff. Yeah, all that stuff would be a ego stroke for his first wave regulars.

Squad 1, the Precinct 1 Units. Vice, Intelligence, Major Crimes, the Gangs Taskforce, Organized Crimes Taskforce, SWAT. Precinct 1 had a lot of big names, and a lot of them impounded a lot of expensive stuff that the city had to get rid off. Sure, might be a little behind the time, but it would be a ego stroke. What hard working cop wouldn't giggle while watching big games on the TVs they took off civil forfeiture. So many long hours looking at all those nice things the crims had and they didn't. Still...too bad about this place. It had character. Was of a old dying breed. Was truly a shame.

Nick Wilde smiled. Yes. It was a shame, but it was his opportunity. He could see it now...all he needed was a name.

"Saul. I'll take it."

"Beautiful Bubula, this place will have that Wilde Gilt in no time. I'll send over the paperwork tomorrow."


	16. We Have Intel

Chapter Summary

This was to fill a prompt, more later. It is a riff of a Korean movie, wonder if anyone knows?

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

The Meadowlands District was by far the closest to spread out and big open spaces one could get in the confines of Zootopia proper, an small enough town charm. It was like someone had scooped out a section of the rolling hills and locks and great plains and just laid them down here. It was no proper small town, out in the sticks that were day long drives away. Where you really got to see such things, where your nearest neighbors were hours away instead of merely twenty minutes. The biomes of Zootopia were truly a masterpiece of animal ingenuity. A soft roiling drizzle with a good chance of thunder coming around(and .05% tornado warning) was making the scene just picturesque.

Of course that didn't help ZPD Meadowlands District detective Ronald Redrock, a ten year veteran of Robbery Homicide who was "optimistically" on a stakeout. Ronald was a short chubby coyote, who really should have been working a more arid district, that had the bad luck("great privileged") of being assigned to the position of UC asset. Which was why he was sitting on his ass, dressed in his best Old Animal clothes, pretending to be some lonely sad sack sitting alone in a bank lobby. Not like he was the only one, there was this ancient looking lion just shivering alone drinking some of that complimentary coffee...Sure, he definitely wasn't alone, Heller from Tactical was pulling UC duty as well, waiting in line, pretending to be a customer getting a bank loan.

This was such a bad idea. They should have just taken over the bank, replaced everyone, but because Intel said "A Bank in the Meadowlands" was going to get hit, the higher ups couldn't cover all the bases like that. There were like 50 banks, and all of them had UCs in them...and a patrol car nearby. Sure, no one was expecting heavy shit, not like anyone was crazy enough to do that, but come on. This shit was nuts. Two UCs and maybe a patrol car?

Seriously, what the fuck...eh, not like he had to worry...chances were it would be enough. Most Robbers thought a Nine and some bullets were enough.

The door opened as some more customers streamed in, all of them wet in one way or another. The usual gaggle that came in during the late afternoon. All normal looking enough. Ron had a rhino wearing some standard browns from PedEx, driver on break? A fox wearing nurse's scrubs carrying a backpack, probably off a shift from Meadowlands General up the road, Ron could smell week old laundry just wafting out from that backpack. A couple of cake ladies with what looks like a strongbox from a bake sale, was the time to get those camp trips funded for those local ranger cubs. And a bundled up rabbit also with a backpack, wearing one of those face masks animals with colds wore sometimes...and big sunglasses...hmm...

Ron cocked a eyebrow at the rabbit, who's long grey ears were folded back under a yellow rain hat. Dressed in a matching yellow rainslicker and yellow boots too. The rabbit walked up to the low counter for shorter animals, a deposit book in paw. The teller, a fellow rabbit, looked up from where he was sitting. The Yellow Rainslicker opened up the book and held it up, and started turning pa-okay, that was the robber.

Ron sighed, how obvious could you be? Rabbits were not too fighty, they tended to run. All he would have to do was amble up and show no fear, and chances were the rabbit would fold. He silently got to his paws and easily slid up. Of course Rainslicker didn't notice, given he seemed to get a little frustrated. Turning the pages more and more.

"Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?" Ron asked simply, smiling as he leaned onto the counter. It was a little short, but he made do. Full of swagger and life. Rainslicker paused, one ear turning towards him, there was tension in the ankles. Yeah, this guy was definitely going to turn and-

A flash of yellow, the rabbit turned on his heel and threw open his rainslicker. A old surplus .30cal carbine, the sort you could find still for $200 at a gun show came up faster than Ron could blink.

 **"BANG!"**


	17. The Bad Ideas Have Just Begun

Chapter Summary

Right, someone wanted Nick and Judy roleplaying crime time, and well...why not make it a part of their job. It's still riffing on the korean movie pretty hard, but I hope that if things develop, that I can put a interesting take on it. After all. It's city wide.

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

 **"BANG!"**

Ron blinked, staring at the rabbit, who held up a orange tipped toy to his face. The paint not even fully scratched off. It was one of those realistic models that gun nuts used to play historical paintball or whatever those reenactment type thingies were called.

Fucking pain those things were some times.

"You shot me before I even identified myself as a police officer?" Ron asked with surprise, one hand going up to pick at a ear, man this rabbit had a set of lungs on them. The rabbit took a light hop back as everyone else in the building looked around.

"Dead people can't talk. Now go lie down, I shot you. You four, don't press that silent alarm." The rabbit said with what sounded like boredom, before taking his sidearm with a casual pull and pointing the toy at the other tellers. It was a she Ron then realized. Though given she was walking off with a hop in her step, Rainslicker did seem more into it then she appeared to be.

"Excuse me gentleanimals, may I get your attention please?" Rainslicker asked, as she hopped onto the little island table where all the deposit slips and stuff were, those little pens on chains rattling.

"This is a part of Operation Roleplay, the city wide training simulation that the ZPD announced last month. Please stay calm, stay in place, and forgive the inconvenience. To better learn about police response in practical conditions, the city will compensate you for your time. I also wish to personally apologize for any rude behavior-"

"Really?" Ron asked as he slowly bent down, main he was too fat for this.

"Dead people can't talk!" Rainslicker called back, she then cleared her throat. "As I was saying, I wish to apologize if I behave rudely to you, but this is to ensure as much realism and verisimilitude as possible. Now, urm, right. The exercise will start in earnest now."

Operation Role Play was getting off to a fine start Ron fumed to himself as he got to the floor and laid on his side. He humphed, this was totally not cool. He'd have to lie here for hours probably.

"Ahem..."

 **PAMPT.** That toy didn't sound like a gun, but the sound of gas releasing and the slap of the metal action was loud enough. That was a small splat as a pink paint stain appeared on the roof.

"EVERYONE PAWS UP AND TO THE WINDOW, NOW! NOW! NOW! I FUCKING SEE SOMEONE REACHING FOR A PHONE, THEY'RE DEAD!" Rainslicker screamed pointing her gun at everyone, she waved it about, her finger off the trigger. There was a hesitance, before the Rhino PedEx driver started to go to the door.

"Screw this. I'm back on shift in twenty minutes." He said simply before the rabbit fired a simulation shot between his legs.

"I SAID TO THE WINDOW, YOU FUCKING THINK I'M KIDDING!" Rainslick screamed before she reached up to rub her throat.

"I am sorry sir, but I can't let you do that..." She apologized.

"Why the hell not?! It's a free country, this is against my righ-" The rhino started off.

"City Hall will pay out a $500 dollar Targoat gift card as well as allow you to select from a prize pool of rewards including things like city auction cars or a weekend cruises if you participate." Rainslicker replied, that got the attention of everyone.

"Oh...well...okay then...urm. Should I, urm try to act or something, I was in theater club in middle school..." The Rhino hemmed and hawed. Rainslicker shook her head.

"No sir, that is unnecessary, but please excuse my screaming at you." She said before motioning with the gun. "EVERYONE TO THE WINDOW!" She then hopped the divide onto the teller counters and aimed her gun at the bank employees. It was a small branch, only eight employees and there wasn't a back office, though there was a small vault and safety deposit box section.

There was a slow plod as Rainslicker then went to the main branch doors, her gun still trained on the group. There was now a greater distance, so she could get to work. She threw her backpack to the ground, and started to unzip it, her attention pulled away for a second as she put the carbine onto the ground.

Ron tried to hide his amused smile, maybe he wouldn't be spending all day on the floor after all. Heller had the bead, and the hostages were out of the way, the Tasmanian Devil smirked among the hostages as his paw reached into his coat and he stepped forward and out.

There was a flash of color.

"Knife kill." Came a amused voice.

"What?!" Heller reached up to his stained collar, a little dab of red from a marker coming off on his fingers. The fox in the nurse's scrubs shrugged as he pulled up a face mask from around his neck. He plucked the sidearm from Heller's coat and moved away from the hostages. A big old marker pen was in the fox's paw.

No one got a good look at his face, too much attention had been on the rabbit.

"Dead people don't talk." The fox said simply as he pointed the gun at the rest of the animals.


	18. Ripping off Brooklynn Nine-Nine

Chapter Summary

What can I say, I am a hack...but I wonder if I can take the idea and run with it in relation to Clawhauser. Makes you think really...what is our friendly cuddly cat hiding behind his cheery smile... Maybe he is a member of The Division. Thoughts?

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

"Soooo...to recap," Nick began as he idly flipped open the cylinder of his revolver and checked its contents, "I'm down to my last full six and three loose rounds, Tolski 'the Pred-Eater' Bunivoch's goons are searching the building, and we got to get this scumbag somewhere safe with only you and me? Is that what's happening right now?" he finished as he snapped his revolver closed and ratcheted the into place. His black furred paws felt cold and calmy, his pads soft. Really, it was not a good day to get out of bed, he took a sick day for goodness' sakes. He kicked SBI agent Don Drooper in the side for emphasis. The long jowled pig in a suit kept silent, sullenly staring up at his two captors.

Being a corrupt government agent was cool, but god damn what did he have to act so cool..."

Judy Hopps hummed as she checked her own war-dog of a sidearm, the combat .45 that she personally bought instead of using a department provided magnum. It was a thousand dollar safe queen that had lost its royal status, its slide now sporting a long scratch down its black finish. She left it unsaid she was down to her last four rounds, with one in the pipe. "You're forgetting Clawhauser," she offered, gesturing over to the window where their brother officer, dressed in his patrol blues was looking out of the window. He was carrying a plastic Wonder Nine, and by the looks of things still had three more mags.

"Yeah!" Clawhauser nodded enthusiastically, he glanced back out the window, "Oh, and another SUV of guys showed up."

"Terrific," Nick drawled, pinching the bridge of his snout. Yes, it was so terrific. Three dozen more killer rabbits that would turn the lot of them into pet food, "Well, I know these buildings, classic Happytown projects like these usually have these big ass chambers you can get into if you go vent crawling. They lead into steam tunnels. We just need to get to a utilities room, and I can get us out."

"Sounds like a plan, but we need a safehouse," Judy replied calmly, before she reached down to drag the pig up, "Up and at 'em, Bunivoch's going to kill you too, so might as well cooperate."

"You'll never make it, Bunivoch has animals in the Bureau and the ZPD, they know each and every safe house in the city," Drooper scoffed, his serious expression not ever changing once over the last few days. From the moment he walked into their station house, a trusted federal agent, to now, a unmasked traitor.

"We can go to my place. No one knows where I live," Clawhauser offered as they breached the hall and started towards the stairs, "Not even Margy."

"...really?" Judy asked as she leaned around the corner, she motioned it was clear and they pressed hard towards the utilities room.

"You seriously going to ask that now Carrots?" Nick retorted as he holstered his revolver and went to work picking the old lock, he didn't even need to get out his picks. Just use his Zootopia Express...well, not his. He hummed as he took Drooper's wallet and fished out a credit card. It would also make short work of the War era screws that held the grate in place.

"What? I mean, no offense Clawhauser, but you seem like the type to have parties," Judy replied, she shrugged as she pulled the door closed behind them all.

"None taken Sweetie, though no, I'm a really private cat," Clawhauser replied, as he blushed at the grate. Oh boy...

He'd have to suck it in.

Nick pulled the grate to the side, and fished out a roll of ducktape and a screwdriver from one of the tool boxes, and glanced at Clawhauser...perhaps he'd need more duck tape, something new came up.

Most utility vents were big, needed to be because union rules, and union mammals tended to have big ass cracks. It was a stereotype sure, but not a unearned one.

After giving Clawhauser a little adhesive assistance, and Drooper some adhesive muzzling, it was a short crawl towards the steam tunnels and out onto the street.

They needed a ride, and what joy was there, when four black late model SUVs were sitting there for the taking.

Unsurprisingly, hit squads tended to leave at least one guy with the getaway cars.

"*whistle* Yo!"

Also unsurprisingly, when a fox steps out from out of nowhere and gives a whistle, rabbit hitmen tended to focus on them, which definitely leaves them open to a taser jammed into their spine set for wolf.

Gzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Thump.

"Let's go," Judy mumbled as she opened one of the doors, shoved Drooper into the back. Clawhauser nodded as he took shotgun. Nick, he paused to at least kick the hitman into the recovery position before taking his position as the driver.

Also, also unsurprisingly, crime bosses didn't invest in the newest and flashest SUVs for their murder squads, with their new anti-theft keyless ignitions and computer controlled engines. And they definitely didn't come with GPS and Lojack.

Nick popped the cap off the ignition and jammed the screwdriver into place. And with that they were off.

They ditched the SUV a district over from where Clawhauser said he lived, the RD's lower branches would make short work of a unattended and already jackable SUV. Clawhauser surprisingly lived in the Mangroves, for a Savannah cat he choose a very strange place to live...

"Clawhauser...urm...where are you taking us?" Judy asked with concern as they went deep into the Canals District. Was not the best of places, the outskirts of Zootopia had spotty CCTV coverage, and well...it was also not a sort of neighborhood one would expect the lively and kind Clawhauser to live in. He was the type to have guests and serve amuse-bouche right? Little spoon fulls of tart cheese or stuff like that.

"Home." He said simply, as he took off his shirt and tied the sleeves around his waste. His light duty vest and wife beater shined white, very clean and nicely pressed. He led them towards a Mangrove apartment, it was a amphibious place. Go up, and you were in a treeblock apartment, go down you were in a lagoon pool loft. This building was pretty security conscious, to which Judy approved, and Nick cased. The security keypad was only six months old, new model. Most places didn't bother updating that sort of thing...though he appreciated the dark low watt bulb and the fact there were no Jam Cams or expensive wireless CCTV cameras around. Big old wired domes stood above the door.

Clawhauser ushered them inside quickly, after all it looked very suspicious. Three animals forcing a cuffed and duck taped fourth into a building in the dead of night. Clawhauser motioned for them to follow quickly, hopping up the stairs with a unusual energy. Though he did get red faced, his cheeks puffing as he led them to his second floor apartment. A big hardwood door with four deadbolts met them, and Clawhauser worked them with familiar ease. With a quick smile and a wave in, he let them into his...apartment.

"...you live here?" Judy asked with surprise, as she pushed Drooper in and let him sit on the floor of the entrance hall. It was...austere. No posters, no photos, no...well...no Clawhauser. Woodcrate furniture and a cheap big screen in the corner...and a gun rack filled with what looked like military grade assault weapons and armor behind a steel security cage...and...lots of knives and reptile heads...and...chitin shells...and bit stuffed fish...a go-bag hung on a coat hook. There was a map of Zootopia opposite the go-bag. What looked like a gasmask and hooligan's bar hung off it...

"Yeah...and I'm afraid I'll be moving soon..." Clawhauser hissed awkwardly, it was their first meeting all over again. Just like when he called her cute, and they had a talk. Nick just silently stared at the two of them, really...that was her response to...to...this.

He pushed past, well...perhaps work would distract from this new...friendship dynamic development.

Rip.

Drooper stared at them, unflinching.

"Bunivoch will find us."

"Nu-uh. I lease this place out of a shell corporation," Clawhauser happily and congenially interrupted.

"Urm...yeah!" Judy tried to get on board with this development.

"And my mail goes to a PO box in Tundra Town," He continued without missing a beat.

"Yeah?" Judy repeated blankly.

"My neighbors think my name is James Blackmark," He began to nod as he went to his bare kitchen area towards his fridge, which was thankfully well stocked. That was something Nick could take solace in.

"Yeah." Judy glared at Drooper, might as well get into it.

"And all the people I work with think my name is Benjamin Clawhauser," Clawhauser finished as he fished out a bottle of cold milk for himself and some ready-to-eat sandwiches.

"Yea-wait, what?" Judy turned to look at him in confusion, while Nick stared bug eyed. Drooper seemed unfazed as ever.

"Don't worry it about it sweetie!" Clawhauser waved it off as he prepared dinner for the three of them. Sandwiches and soda, or milk in his case, would have to do. He could microwave them if anyone wanted hot food.

"Okay...right, where is that evidence Drooper? A pig like you, you keep copies, protection and insurance..." Judy nodded slowly towards her...friend? She glanced back towards Clawhauser.

Drooper stayed silent.

"Want a CTL Jude? Nick, shrimp?" Clawhauser asked, holding up the sandwiches in question.

"I'll take a gin sour if you got it." Nick mumbled, as he leaned against the wall. Where exactly was he? Did he hear the dulcet black and white tones of Rod Steering?

"Dry bar next to the cage Hun, help yourself," Clawhauser mentioned as he selected a shrimp poboy for himself, he made them all in advance for times like this, you know when you had friends over, "Oh, I'll get some .357s out of there for ya, Judy, you carrying a .45 right?"


	19. The Good Old Bad Days(Pushed)

Chapter Summary

When you push, and push, and push...whether it be in the name of the all mighty dollar, a uncaring god, or some all consuming cause...do not dare think that something cannot, will not push back.

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems. Wrote this just because I wanted to do something dark, don't read too much into it. OOC behavior is probably here...you just need to wonder, what would it take to break a good person into this.

* * *

How long has it been since you were put into this car trunk? Hours? Days? You can't tell, your stomach is empty, and you feel so thirsty. The heat had sapped the life out of you, and you couldn't even pant. Not with the duck tape all around your muzzle. The rough potato sack around your head.

Why was this happening to you!? You didn't do anything to anyone. All you can remember is big paws and lots of stings. Are you going to die here? These thoughts keep you awake, as more and more time passes...the sound of a cell phone dying somewhere behind your head, muffled by the trunk itself greets you.

They're going to crush this thing, like in the movies. You are going to die. You struggle, you would chew your arm off to get out of this. Like what they said the ancient ancestors did. Survival at all costs...you are not so brave...you begin to doze off...

The car lurches and jumps, the engine starts. As big animals get into the driver and passengers' seats. What's going on? They're taking you somewhere. The drive is slow, you can hear traffic now, freeway, tunnels. Then you feel cold. Oh sweet merciful cold. It is like you are alive again...but that's no hope.

You have to fight. That's...that's what you have to do...you have to fight. So that's what you do, you kick and squirm and you thrash when the trunk opens, even if you are so tired, so thirsty, so hungry, you do something. Because all animals want to live. And you want to live.

Those big paws are back, holding you down, dragging you out. Howl, yowl, scream, they don't seem to care as you struggle against the tape.

"Thank you gentlemen." Came a soft female voice, small animal. You can't smell anything, only tape backing and...and water? It's cold here. There are no other words, as those big paws hold you down. They make you kneel.

"You probably don't know who I am." The voice said before the sack is ripped from your head. The light, it's too bright. This place, it's so shiny. Ice everywhere. A big paw smacks your ear and forces you to look at someone.

It's a rabbit...a little girl rabbit. She is sitting in front of you, on a big folding chair. Dressed in what look like thrift store hand me downs. Big purple eyes look down at you...it would have made you bristle, but you are in no position to think about that...she is doing something with some rope in her hands.

"You probably don't even know why you are here...I will educate you on that soon enough..." She looks familiar. You don't know why. You really don't know why. But she looks so familiar. It's on the tip of your tongue. Did you go to high school with this psycho? She locks eyes with you as she works that rope.

"...my grandfather was a monster." She says, you feel a sharp shiver down. This is going places you don't want to see. This doesn't happen to real animals. This happens to freaking Steve Bullscemi and what's his face. Her paws don't stop, and your eyes flicker down to them.

Another smack.

"Don't you dare look away." Came a growl in your ear. Heavy and rumbling, arctic. It promises bad things. The rabbit is smiling over your shoulder when you look back, and when she locks eyes with you again you don't dare look away.

"He was the Exalted Fury of the Sacred Brotherhood of Sint-Niklaas before The Great War, he was a hateful little thug, who did bad things with his brothers. So many bad things. He told me those things, told me of the good old days. He hated animals like you, just because you breathed...he hated animals like you, even when he brought home a Fox after the war. After all his brothers died, after all the young bucks in town died. He hated even when he earned brotherhood with a fox...and I don't blame him. It was a different time." She says, never breaking eye contact, not even blinking. The world is just her two deep purple eyes.

"He showed me the pictures, tried to show them to his grandchildren...show us our...heritage. He died bitter, and only my father went to his funeral...when I was young, I couldn't understand how some animals could be as hateful as him...but...now...now I know that the hate...it runs deep. It runs in the blood...and...well...I thought it didn't run in me." She says as she lets the rope fall off her lap. It hangs there. A noose. A Hangman's noose.

"I thought, I would make the world better, and lock away all the monsters. I would be the hero rescuing the innocent. I thought so many things...I am thinking so many things." She leaps off the chair and she leans in so close she is pressing her head towards yours. A little tiny voice in your head says try and bite her, headbutt her, do something...but you are too afraid. You are afraid, as she takes one of your ears and pulls you closer.

"My grandfather dug foxholes with a fox, he named his son after a fox, and he hated foxes. He hated foxes, wolves, shrews, sheep, rats, mice, cows, pigs, deer, lions, tigers, and bears. He fucking hated everything that wasn't a rabbit...he was a complicated man, I know that now...I accept that now. That things are not black and white, that there is...ambiguity. I know for a fact, he murdered three animals before he went to war. He lynched a wolf that had wandered into Bunnyburrow looking for work and salvation. He burned down the warren of rabbit that rented out to weasels. Shot a carpetbagger trying to get the migrants to organize...I thought I wasn't like him...because...I didn't hate..." She is hissing like the devil, the snake in Eden giving the forbidden fruit of knowledge to the world. She is the devil, come to take your soul.

"Well...that's no longer true...because I HATE you. I hate you with the power of burning vitriol and empty rhetoric that my grandfather clung to when he died. I hate you because it gives me some meaning, it allows me to make some sense in the world...I hate you from the depths of my soul..." She tosses your head back, and stalks away. You can't breath, it's too much. You feel faint, but those big paws at your back don't let you. They tug your ears, and keep you wide awake, and you get to watch as she saunters off and throws that rope up over a shelf support strut. It hangs out, really high, she has to jump up to thread the needle.

"And...that brings me back...to why you are here. You are here...because you are responsible. YOU are responsible." She points at you, and you scramble to think, what could you have done? What could have brought this down on you? This...this has to be a mistake...but it's not.

She comes back.

"You told all those lies. All those lies that got all those animals hurt. You should have told the truth...but no...you were...greedy."

It hits you right then. What she is talking about...that...that shouldn't matter. It was just nuisance stuff. A couple of cut corners, no big deal. It...it was no big deal.

"You got my best friend hurt...you destroyed him...you ruined him...you ruined me...you're the only one that will get to know...because...you'll be the first. You'll be the message..." She motions, and they drag you up...no...no. They can't. You try to dig in your paws, your claws, you scramble. The floor is too slippery, it's too icy. Bears. Bears have you. Polar bears with grim faces. One of them drags the chair the rabbit was sitting on over to the rope. NONONONONO!

"...be glad I am not my grandfather. It will be over all too soon." The Rabbit says, as she climbs up on the shelf, and she loops that rope around your neck.

You remember. YOU REMEMBER NOW. Years ago, on the news, you saw this rabbit. Some big thing back in the Teens. You saw her. What was it about, what was it about?! The rabbit jumps down, the polar bears step away.

She's...she's...She's a co-The rabbit kicks the chair out from under you. You think you hear a crack, before everything just...stops. Darkness comes down. From the edges of your vision...you fade.

"Koslov...thank you...thank you...please...please give Mister Big my thanks as well..." Noise, wisps of noise. You slip away into the big nothing.


	20. Perspective(Pushed)

Chapter Summary

I figured I did Judy, so why not Nick now. Might make it a thing, see how the fine officers of the ZPD wreak bloody havoc when they must set their minds to it...

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

Kelly Briner was a otter in her senior year of high school, and she worked at shitty Kit's Sports Chalet in a shitty strip mall for shitty money so she could have her own cell phone and data plan. Her overly PC counselors at school called her creative, but with dark fur dye, deathly motifs, and a four studs in her face, even her parents understood she was a goth. She vaped on the job, and stood there with bored indifference. All the norms just shitting away their lives, doing shitty unimportant shit, that didn't need anyone to do while she shitted away her life in this dead end shit job where no one from corporate fucking cared. Her manager, Jeff, didn't fucking care. That she barely really kept the register's area in order. The retard short bus riding Tiger was smart enough not to need minding when the restocking at to be done. But fuck Jeff, he spent all day in the back looking at gross out porn.

What a wonderful family establishment this was.

So it was like that, she just wasted her day, ringing up the bullshit charges. Fat ass kids that got hundred dollar kicks but would never really use them, their moms blind to the whole fucking fake dreams they had. Roided up jerks that probably broke another set of weights, all pimply faced with shrunken gonads and shit. Dead beat dads that thought some new hockey gear and snowboarding crap would make up for lost time, who paid in cash and dressed in thrift store trash. More and more sob stories for the pile.

A wonderful fucking day.

Bengi Bahara was a old panther, when he was seventeen he was the only male of recruit-able age that was literate in his little jungle village, he could read Scriptures because the missionary came and he was the only one interested. They made him sergeant for that, when the old colonialist masters needed troops for the War. He saw something so wondrous among the death and carnage, he saw life. He did not know what sulfate powder was, or morphine, or any of the other wonders were. In War he met his wife, who cared for him when he himself needed those wonders. Loving Dula, who carried for him, who gave him the plasma and rum. Who loved him so, who took his name and who bore him many cubs. He became a pharmacist because of her, she who taught him so much so he could bring these wonders to everyone. She who brought him to her homeland, Zootopia...who was so proud when he opened Bahara Pharmacy for her.

Dula was gone now, but he still his cubs, now all grown and with cubs of their own...he still had this place. Which survived all coming eras, decades of strife and change. This little place stood unchanged, from the first few years he got off that train carriage with her, to now when all these new wonders kept appearing. Bengi Bahara did Toola's land a service, providing them what would fix their ills.

The medicines and tonics that were like magic in his youth, the gadgets and gizmos that made even his life, with his grey fur so much more comfortable. From aspirin to zoloft, he had it all. From ankle braces to pin prick blood tests.

He gave Zootopia the means to treat their ills, from the sickly young babes that needed their antibiotics to the tired laborers who needed new back and neck braces and some things to refill their first aid kits.

It was a wonderful day.

Little Heat was a bundle of laughs, literally. No one really knew what the short round fellow or gal was, given they were always bundled up in the Tundra Town cold. Heat was definitely not a native to the cold, given the triple layers and honest to god boots he wore. Cracking those little heating pads like they were candy. Little Heat was a animal who could get things for a brother, be they big or small. Whether you needed a clean ID with the new helios or a crate of knock of DVDs, Little Heat was your main mammal. Though, oh, if you crossed him, you'd find yourself frozen stiff among snow sculptures. There were rules for this sort of thing, big stuff you called a burner at the corner, little stuff you called the burner at Loco's. Real stuff, you used that dark net website with that new fangled Tor shit. Untraceable, paid in HumpCoin, was a new fucking world, and he didn't even have to leave his chair out on the corner. Playing dominoes with some of the reliable mammals of the area.

Guys that got farmed out work, who were reliable and trusted. No snitches here.

What a new fucking world, where you could order some bone juice and rubbers and introductions for the best of the Arctic Vix's girls from the comfort of your home. Where you could get some fine twenty year old 'Nac for your party delivered same day with the blood washed off. Where a old beater with clean plates and a crapy ass .25 in the glove box will be left for you under a overpass for the low, low price of 3Gs of HC.

What a wonderful day to be alive.

Carnelian Inc. was doing good, it was fine and healthy, and it reported a two percent gain this quarter. Really, they could have called it twenty, it all would have been well. Larry Hornic was a deer living the dream, one of the pack set. A deer running with the wolves and the lemmings. There was a reason Wolves ran Wall Street. He grew up with private schools, and giving parents, who only wished for him to succeed. Succeed he did, he got his Masters, his Majors, and Minors. Did his time as the coffee peon, and now he was a mammal who had peons of his own. Sure, eggs had to be broken, things stepped on, but it was all for the goal of the almighty dollar. Some new associates and partners took some getting used to, business school didn't really prepare him for this set, but it was all good. Full of white powder, and gains, and so much money he might as well been printing it.

Larry was a deer that put in his dues, and so he was, in the back seat of his town car, putting in work as his new friends called.

"So, urm, right. It got taken care of? The, urm, troublesome suite?" Larry smiled as he poured himself a little drink from the mini bar at his side, his driver already putting up the privacy wall.

Can't testify to what you didn't witness.

"Good good, was a bit worried there, about the-yeah, the thing." Larry nodded, so many new words and terms, a hot new set of buzz words to learn.

"Though, right. About our, new competitors, do...do I have anything to worry about?" Did he? He was behind the scenes, money mammal, folks like him didn't get involved in the nitty gritty.

"No? Oh...okay...well, glad that's the case. Right, should have the latest set of transfers done by the weekend. Would you like to join me for a drink afterwards?" Larry offered as was courtesy, though he winced as he pulled the phone from his ear.

Sometimes he hated the fact his new partners were so uncouth.

"I will take that as a no? Okay. Sure. I'll call you on Sunday. Congratulations, you've gotten yourself some prime farmland my friend." Larry snapped the burner flip phone closed, it was a drag he couldn't use a blackberry at least. It was no iCarrot, but still. Was a bit lame, using these cheap things. And so wasteful too, he'd have to throw this one out after this weekend and wait for a new one to be biked over.

Didn't matter though, what's a little looking behind the times in face of a seven figure payout?

Larry sipped his whiskey as he turned to look out his window, the Zootopia night illuminating only him and his moving castle, the deserted streets a fine place to do this sort of fixing.

It was the beginning of a wonderful d-

The big shiny Benz, a masterpiece of overseas clock work branding crumbled like a tin can. All crumble zones, and aluminum. It would protect its passengers much better than the ancient steel Detrot box that slammed into it going a whopping 70mph going down hill. The big steel beast plowed through the Benz like it was tissue paper, a tin toy blown over by a cub with a tantrum. Over and over it went, stopping as it jammed itself into a alley mouth. The airbag deployed with a delayed bomph, but with a neck brace, snout guard, full body padding, hockey helmet, and seatbelt, what would have been a crippling crash merely turned into a punch drunk stumble. There was no time to feel humbled over aches and pains, get out and do what you came here to do.

Ski mask under the helmet, in case any jam cams saw. Big poofy coat and sky pants and boots to hide the paws and tail. Keep hands concealed in pockets. Deer buck moaning, groaning, pop him in the face twice and dump the mag into his chest. Always double glove so you can toss the piece. Climb over the wreak, get into the alley, there's going to be a Metro Utilities access a block away.

It was time to make the getaway, disappear the evidence, and get home for a long hot soak in the tub.

Wonderful day to get started...


	21. The Day You Wonder

Chapter Summary

Everyday, when you strap on your badge, you wonder. Is today the day?

* * *

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

Judy loved their pursuit cruiser, it was big, strong, fast. A darling with only ten thousand miles on it, she adored this cruiser. Hotel-14, sure, the jokes got old, and with Nick finally partnered with her, the boys and girls of the presdigious Squad 1 were hazing them, but it didn't matter. It was all good. This was the fast-track to a Detective's Shield, hell, being in the elite Squad 1, Bogo's hoof picked patrol officers, that was already career making...but no, she was a bunny with plans. With so many plans, she'd have her Detective's Shield in two years, her Captain's Pips in ten years. She'd be a inspiration, the MIP would make the world a more inclusive place...and she was sitting pretty, with proof that things got better.

Nick didn't really notice his partner's daydreams. Well, he did, "Eyes on the road Carrots," that easy dream popping reminder, no he and her had a groove for that. No, he was busy with his various feeds. Stocks, sports book, news, social media, the new Match Three tile game. His high score was safe, as he threw a leg up to brace against the passenger side dash and braced for Judy's short stop. She only got him like one in four times now. Heh, he smirked at her. She smirked back, before they continued on, down their beat along Central Main, the long straightaway a haven for speed freaks during slow traffic. Whenever Moogle's Zaze app posted no traffic, you were bound to find a few young idiots racing down on their custom bikes. All neon glow and plastic bodies, no matter that every once in a few months one of them turns into a smear on the asphalt.

Nick is keeping a eye on Zaze, clear traffic for eight blocks. That's bound to draw a few of the speed junkies out. He is keeping a eye on it, so he is not the one that notices the parked van in front of the Bank of Zootopia branch, engine running with no driver. He's not the one to notice the weight of the suspension sagging, as if there was a big animal in the back. He is not the one to notice, the muffled crack of a gunshot. Of many gunshots. Judy's eyes dilate as her ears swivel towards the bank, as she instinctively thumps her paw, once, twice, trice. Nick knew what that meant, danger, don't freak out. He sees it immediately, his eyes flicking up from the little screen. Looks like some crew with some brains, lookout hiding in the back of that van.

Watching. Waiting.

Judy doesn't turn on the lights, no she drives down, like she is wont to do. Some dumb cop, just passing by. They turn the corner before Nick is on the radio, and she's doing a U-Turn and sliding up to cover.

"Central, Possible 2-11 on eight thousand block on Central Main, Hotel-14 responding. Requesting backup, Code 2-High. Hotel-14 Over." Nick's voice was smooth, steady, as he reached for the switch under the radio that would unlock the cruiser's carbine. A old 9mm war surplus piece that probably saw most of its life in a wooden create somewhere while its siblings served in various conflicts. The empty magazine well looked cavernous, hungry...his paw was already reaching for one of the three magazines they were issued.

"Hotel-14, clear copy, showing Hotel-12 and Hotel-15 responding. ETA four minutes. What is your six? Over." Dispatch always patched in Clawhauser when Squad 1 responded to anything more than a fender bender. He would bring in Bogo, if it warranted is attention.

"We are at the corner of Central Main and Telungoo-" Was all Nick could have gotten out, as the back van doors opened. A big bull, wearing a red ski mask and a poof winter coat was toting a military style assault rifle and taking aim. Judy could see what looked like a police radio unit, frayed wires and cracked screens behind him, and she could hear him call out, back to the bank.

"we've been made!"

 **BRATATATATATA!**

The windshield shattered, as she ducked down and pulled forward, her paws dragging the wheel into a turn. Nick was down, scrunched up as well, hiding behind the armored door panel on his side. Glass flew as Judy did her best to pull into the middle of the street, and throw on the lights and sirens. There needed to be some sign not to drive down this road. Otherwise civilians could get into a cross fire, never mind SOP was to pull back, never mind that she and Nick were not expected to face up to this kind of threat.

This was what SWAT was for.

"Shots fired, shots fired! Officers taking fire on Central Main, suspect armed with automatic weapons. Eyes on Male IC-BB wearing a red mask and green winter jacket." Nick's voice didn't deep, still smooth and steady as he gripped his arm rest tight and Judy threw the cruiser into park. Judy and he needed that backup, he could not fuck this up. Even as his window turned into so much shrapnel over his head, as he could feel the vibrations coming through his door. He was not going to fuck this up.

 **BRATATATATATATATTA!**

"Plate number Bravo Victor Niner Niner Six One Six!" Judy screamed over to him, she was getting out. Her body protected by the wheel wells of her car, the engine block too. She reached out to drag Nick out. He was fine, but he went limp as his side dragged across the center divider with the old surplus carbine in its mounting. His free hand tugged at it, and there was a slight snap as its wire stock crumbled against its mounting brace. It would do. He was flat on the ground, radio bungee straight.

"Help is on the way Hotel-14! We have all available units in bound!"

"Copy that." Nick replied, letting go over the radio as Judy armed up. Three mags, sixty shots. Well, one mag, twenty shots. Nick was reaching in for the other mags, as he felt something red hot bit into his shin. It didn't matter, as he found the two things. Judy was already slapping the magazine and pulling the bolt.

"POLICE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" She screamed out, not that it would do much good, it was what was expected. SOP. She didn't duck out, pop out, or jump out. No she curled up, making sure not to leave the safety of the wheel well. The hot black asphalt singed her fur, as she lay back and started to take pot shots.

 **Pop! Pop!**

Miss. Miss. She had to take a breath. She was aiming high, dust spraying from the BoZ sign above the door.

 **BRATATATATA** - _silence_.

Her eyes instinctively closed as she felt something bite into her face. Divots in the asphalt spraying stone and grit into her left side. The shooter was out, her brain supplied.

The dispatch was screaming for their status as Nick popped the trunk release. They needed more ammunition. There were another three magazines in the back.

"COVER ME!" Nick called. Judy nodded, and she did the unthinkable. She leaned out.

 **Popopopopopoppopopopopoopopo!**

She dumped the mag into the back of that van, the bull cursing as he scrambled into the driver's seat and his partners made their appearance. Two more bulls, yellow ski mask and green ski mask. Poofy winter coats all.

Assault rifles all. Nick grabbed the ammo can out of the back, and Judy locked onto a empty magazine as the two bulls opened up.

 **BRARTATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATA!**

Spraying and praying. Nick felt something whiz by his ears, and something sparked off the open trunk lid as he ducked behind the other wheel well.

Judy was already pulling the old mag out and slapping in a new one. Twenty shots, no hits, she felt like cursing herself. She had scored Expert on her firing qualifications. Her eyes glanced to Nick, as he tried wrestle open the ammo can.

His pants were soaking wet from blood, a angry looking gash on his shin leaking out his life. He didn't seem to notice.

"NICK! NICK! STOP THE BLEEDING!" She urged, not noticing her own blood that was flowing down her left cheek. Sirens. She could hear sirens.

"IT'S NOTHING! FIRE BACK! THEY'LL FLANK IF YOU DON'T!" Nick retorted as he started to feel a red hot burning in his leg. Judy didn't have to be told twice, as she went back to engaging the targets. They weren't piling into the van. Why weren't they piling in? Judy wondered as she aimed, and took a breath. Hotel-14 would probably never drive again, as wheels popped and the whole thing started to list. The engine was smoking and clanking. The two bulls were not letting up.

Is today the day they would not go home?


	22. The Great Blackout of '18

Summary: Someone asked how it would be possible for Nick or Judy have to use a typewriter in the canon setting. Answer, probably never going to happen.

* * *

Notes: Warning: Written quickly, was not beta'ed, edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

"I bet this is the start of the hacker uprising, the nerds have risen up. They said viruses and shit could take out the city's grid for years, but did they listen? No-"

"Zoobook says it's because some idiot ran his truck into a transformer in the Canals which caused a massive electrical short which caused a cascading overload which overloaded the civilian and commercial power grids." Detective Judy Hopps said as she checked her news feed, dim emergency lighting in the precinct casting odd shadows around her. She looked up to Fangmire, the wolf that shared the opposite side of the cubicle node, with a tired unamused look. She had worked patrol with him, and he had come up into Major Crimes with her and Nick...but god...did he have a mouth. As well as the mindset that they lived in a Tom Clawley novel.

Dingdoodoodoo...

Judy sighed as her phone powered down, and Francine lumbered up pushing a cart. The elephant was still working patrol, in her Service Set As, Judy missed those heady days. When you only had to hand write your booking and incident reports on the premade forms in the Bullpen.

"Chief gave the okay to raid the Kit's down the block, let there be light!" She trumpeted with a smile before slamming down a few battery powered lanterns.

"Great...and they didn't loan us camp generators?" Judy asked, twitching. If they just had some power, they could still turn in their paperwork. She needed to finish up typing and printing out dozens of various arrest records, case reports, and affidavits.

"Nah, they got cleaned up before we got there." Francine replied, before she stomped off cheerily.

"Grrr..." Judy leaned back into her chair and just groaned. Why did this happen to her today? It was Friday, now she'd have to do overtime on Monday just to catch up.

"Relax Carrots, you're going to give yourself a ulcer. Take a nap." Nick said simply from her right. He had been putting his own advice into action, his paws kicked up onto his desk and a sleep mask over his eyes. Why he even had one of those fleece throw blankets.

"Future you is going to hate you for that Nick, now wake up we got work to do." Judy said huffily, she then pushed his paws off the desk. Nick's chair creaked and thumped as his paws hit the ground.

"Touche." Fangmire commented with a laugh. "Hmm, Wilde, you're old. How did they do this back in your day?"

"...I'm only thirty-four! And you got three years on me in seniority!" Nick protested, slamming his hands down. He growled at Fangmire. "Don't make me start a howl, snowy..."

"You wouldn't." Fangmire narrowed his eyes.

The two canines stared down at each other.

Judy hummed...yes...how did the cops of yore handle this? There was probably some old supplies somewhere, typewriters and such. She hopped off her chair and headed towards the Chief's office. She would need his permission to go start digging in storage.

Her ears perked as she neared Bogo's office, a clacking sound coming from behind the door. So there were typewriters in the building! She knocked, which prompted the clacking to stop.

"Enter!" Came the deep voice of her Chief, Judy peaked her head in.

"Sir, I was wondering-" Judy paused as she looked at the scene. Bogo was wearing only a wife beater, his uniform shirt hung on a rack in the corner, a small typewriter sat in front of him.

He looked over his spectacles at Judy.

"It's hot without air conditioning." He said simply, narrowing his eyes. Judy nodded rapidly in agreement...though she could not help but stare at the sight.

One did not just see Mwana Bogo out of uniform.

"Hopps!"

"Ah! Yes sir." She entered the room and saluted promptly. Bogo felt his cheek twitch.

"...?" He stared at her, slowly growing less generous.

"Ah. I mean. Urm. Sir...I have...a...urm...question..." Judy stuttered as she dropped the salute awkwardly.

"Spit it out Hopps." Bogo sighed, reaching up to pinch his snout. Strangely enough he left a slight white stain on his fur.

"Urm..." Judy hesitated.

"Hopps." Bogo began to stand up.

"Um. I was just wondering, do we have any typewriters in storage? You see, there's a clog in paperwork." Judy started, before Bogo held up his hand.

"This station was built in '98, the ZPD replaced all typewriters with computers in '96...why would there be any in this building?" Bogo asked rhetorically.

"But..." Judy eyes flicked towards the typewriter on Bogo's desk. Bogo's eyes flicked towards it with her.

"...I brought it from home." Bogo said simply.

"...that is not weird Hopps, do you have any other pressing paperwork issues that need attending? If so, I don't care." Bogo said as he returned to writing. Clack, clack, clack. "Ah." He made a straggled noise as he pulled out a little bottle of White Out and leaned in.

Judy slowly backed out of the room.

Perhaps it was best there were no other typewriters in the building.


	23. Interdepartmental Cooperation & Cross-Tr

Summary: This is probably the only realistic way Judy or Nick would use a typewriter.

* * *

Notes: Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

* * *

Zootopia county comprised of fifteen distinct and separate jurisdictions based around district and administrative lines, it encompassed over five thousand square miles, and had a rough population of forty million animals.

To best protect and serve such a massive and diverse community, the civil government and its many offshoots and branches employed around sixty-eight thousand law enforcement officers not counting the civilian staff.

They compromised of numerous law enforcement agencies, which needed to keep in touch and informed. The Zootopia City Police Department, as one of the premier institutions accomplished this by loaning out specialist officers from its elite investigative squads.

Detectives of suburb reputation and training who could teach and over all advice local departments on the latest and greatest techniques.

Of these detectives was one irate rabbit sitting through what amounted to a grade school allergy presentation.

"So that concludes the current policy on workplace allowed items, food, beverages, and other sundries. Any questions Detective Hopps?" Sheriff Lou Beaverton asked simply.

Sheriff Lou Beaverton was as his name implied, a beaver and a sheriff. He ran the Sheriff's station at Blue Point Valley, a little touristy hotspot up in the mountains north of Zootopia, and was considered a independent law enforcement agency from the ZPD proper. It, along with dozens if not over a hundred local sheriff's offices, constables, deputies, rangers, agents, and other institutions comprised the backbone of law enforcement at Zootopia's outskirts. Not counting various federal agencies, such as Customs and Immigration Protection or the Drugs and Alcohol Bureau. Pronounced CIP and DAB respectively.

These were the things that kept Judy Hopps sane as she shook her head slowly, and Lou Beaverton smiled.

"Good. Now, on to the next issue. Cultural sensitivity with the Bear Tribes." Lou then pulled out a set of flashcards. This Judy paid nominally more attention to, given that ZPD's own Sovereign Tribal Lands module was related towards legalities and discrimination policies. Them bear casinos really could lobby for things. So there was a list of words not to use, a list of terms not to use, a list of gestures not to use, a list of properties and areas considered tribal lands. All well and good, Judy Hopps filed it all away neatly in her mind.

"Right, now that's out of the way, I guess we're done...but seeing as it's nearly five, I think you deserve a short day. Must have been a long drive up the mountain. You're lodged out of old Molly Wald's house right? Got yourself a bedsit?" Lou rambled as he leaned back in his chair, the old wooden thing squeaking ominously under his weight.

"Excuse me Sheriff, I rather get started on my administrative paperwork. I might only be here for sixteen weeks, but you know how the paper work can pile up." Judy smiled tersely, it was true. Paperwork did pile up, and she didn't want to go into OT to deal with it. Sure OT pay was nice, but not at the cost of eye strain and carpal tunnel...plus she was unsure that she was getting OT. They didn't cover that during orientation back at Precinct 1 .Well at least she wasn't Nick...He hadn't been on time for when they were handing out the assignments.

That was a mistake everyone knew never ever to make.

"Oh, of course. I can show you to your workspace." Lou smiled graciously, not feeling Judy's slightly annoyance. He got up with a grunt and waddled along.

"Now, the main office space is divided up among my deputies and inspector Hammer, and I am fraid to say that all the desks are taken up, but since this was planned all months ago, I had Marigold our receptionist slash admin officer do you up a nice office in the break room." Lou boosted.

Judy nodded, okay, she'd not be getting much work done during break time, but it sounded like she'd be getting a bit of privacy.

The breakroom was spacious, with two tables. One a standard round five seater for the deputies, and the other what appeared to be a wolf's school desk. It was big enough for a rabbit, but the chair was high. There was even a little lamp. Was pretty thoughtful. Judy smiled at that, though she cocked her brow at the typewriter. How quaint.

"Ah, well, sorry to say this Sheriff Beavert-" Judy started.

"Call me Lou." He interrupted.

"Right, Lou, I don't need the type writer. I brought my own laptop. Let me just sign on to the department wi-fi and-" Judy started again.

"We don't internet." Lou interrupted again.

"...okay, in that case. I, ah, I can print direct with a USB off a printer-" Judy tried again.

"We don't have one of those, we have a fax machine?" Lou offered.

"...Is there a Kinkajou's near by?" Judy felt her ears fold back.

"Old Ram Steiner runs the local print shop and Western Union, but he closes at four most days." Lou shrugged, and he gestured towards the typewriter.

"It works well enough, me and the boys just type things with these. Ain't too much of a chore, it's a shame most schools don't teach typing right no more. In any case Judy, I'm headed out. Just have Marigold page me if you need anything." Lou waved off, though he stopped to pull a bottle of cola from the staff fridge. He popped the cap with his teeth and waddled off.

"...how hard could it be?" Judy asked lightly as she went off to get the forms needed.

It turns out, massively hard. Most of the pages couldn't even bend any more...

She'd be express ordering a printer the next morning...though...at least she hadn't been Nick...


End file.
